Decades
by gryffinsdoor
Summary: Trapped in a world where my ex-girlfriend thinks the irony is bloody hilarious, I have foreknowledge - a powerful (and dangerous) tool that should help me win the fight before the enemy knows what hit them. Little did I know that the fight was not only with the enemy. Pre-seventh year, canon ships, celebrating the 10th anniversary of the Deathly Hallows publication.
1. Evidence & Conviction

"To think of all the times I've wished I could slip right into one of my favorite books. But that's the advantage of reading – you can shut the book whenever you want."  
\- Cornelia Funke, _Inkheart_

* * *

 **Decades: Trials & Tribulations**

* * *

 **1\. Evidence and Conviction**

o o o

1.01

0710 WEDNESDAY

I was barely awake when I realized something was wrong. Forcing my eyes open, I could make out an unfamiliar bedroom from the lumpy twin bed I occupied. The ceiling and walls were bare and furnishings were sparse – a small cluttered desk and chair were adjacent to the bed, and I could make out some shelves on the far wall.

I blinked once, twice, trying to make out details, only to become frustrated and concerned – everything was blurry and my eyes would not clear. I had a splitting headache and I prayed that I hadn't suffered a concussion… or something worse.

I struggled out of the bed, stepping carefully to avoid the scattered articles on the floor, and made my way to the window. It was open, something I would never do in July, but the air was refreshingly spring-like. I tried to think as I squinted down upon what I decided was a neighborhood street – a swath of gray separated mottled patches of green yards between the building I was in and the rough shapes beyond that looked to be other houses.

What in the name of everything holy was going on? Where was I and how did I get here? And what was wrong with my eyesight? Searching my memory, I recalled a party the night before. There had been lots of food, but I couldn't remember people drinking much, mostly just lively discussion. Surely I had not gotten drunk – I had sworn off the hard stuff since that night when… well, back when I was known to do some pretty stupid things.

My thoughts were interrupted by a light chilling breeze across my mostly bare skin, directing my attention to a very pressing need to heed nature's call. I fumbled toward the bedroom door, working around an open trunk that appeared to have regurgitated much of its contents onto the bare wood floor.

I managed to find a toilet across the hall and had just finished when I jumped and swore at the sight of a stranger, standing there in the bathroom with me.

I swore again as I realized that the stranger wasn't _with_ me – he _was_ me.

I was looking in the mirror.

Fully awake now, I touched a wary hand to the thick crop of black hair – nothing like my erstwhile thinning fair strands – and slowly looked down at the foreign wiry frame, hesitantly pulling my fingers along to confirm with touch what my eyes were trying to see and my brain was refusing to admit – that this strange body was somehow my own.

I turned this way and that, staring uncomprehending at this reflection of… whoever I was. Compared to my former familiar body I was thin and a bit shorter, with the well-defined musculature of a distance runner in training. Even in my army days I was not like this - not an ounce of extra fat, I thought, pressing along the plainly visible ribs. As if on cue, I felt a substantial rumble in my abdomen. I would have to do something about breakfast soon. Ignoring the still present headache, I tried the left leg and had a full range of motion without pain. This was definitely _not_ my knee.

My mind was a maelstrom of confusion. Was I dreaming? I was tempted to try the silly pinch test, but I knew it would tell me nothing I hadn't already sensed. This was unlike any dream I'd ever had; everything felt so excruciatingly _normal_ – everything and nothing at the same time. My dreams rarely stayed in a particular scene for long, but this reflection, blurred as it was, never wavered in the slightest.

Still bewildered but becoming cautiously curious, I leaned in for a closer inspection of the face in the mirror and it finally came into focus. Not bad looking, rather thin with reasonably strong jaw and cheekbones, normal nose, slight dark patches under those almond-shaped bright green eyes… _his mother's eyes_ … no, it couldn't possibly be…

I whipped up my forehead's fringe, and there it was – the unique lightning bolt scar known to readers around the globe.

I was staring at Harry Potter.

I _was_ Harry Potter.

Pain exploded in my head, and a torrent of images, feelings and sensations crashed over me like ocean waves and I was gasping for breath, struggling to reach the surface of whatever was drowning me, tossing me wildly. I vainly grasped for something – anything – that could return my sense of equilibrium. I was floundering on the edge of consciousness when the roiling storm in my head finally calmed, and I recognized that this raging flood represented the life experience of the young wizard alternatively known as the Boy Who Lived. Now I knew what that life was really about. His life was now _my_ life.

It was too much. I lost what little I had in my stomach.

Several minutes later I was finally able to regain my feet and clean up. My mind was still a jumbled mess and would take a while to sort out, especially with two sets of memories, one of which I had thought only existed between the author's imagination and those seven books, but that was the set that was now confronting me as reality. I shook my head in bewilderment and resigned to finding some clothes.

I opened the door to confront a blockade in the form of a very bulky human. I could only groan inwardly, remembering where I was.

I looked up and gave him a nod. "Dudley."

He furrowed his brow in something that could have been concern. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." I certainly had _that_ line down.

"What happened to your glasses?"

 _Glasses!_ How could I have been so stupid?

"Erm… I forgot them. Probably why I keep bumping into the walls, yeah?"

I could feel him staring as I stumbled back into what I now knew was Harry's bedroom at number four Privet Drive, a.k.a. the Dursley residence – wait, that wasn't right. Their name wasn't Dursley and that wasn't the right address. I thought I knew all this, but I was at a loss to explain the conflicting memories. At least I could confirm that this was the magically protected home of my only blood relatives where I was safe from homicidal dark wizards until I became of age. Speaking of which, exactly when would that be? How old was I? What day was it here? This trans-whatever that landed me in this situation had obviously brought me back in time, but how far? Did I really need to worry whether this truly was fiction, as I had always assumed? Exactly what does one do when finding himself the primary character in a story already written?

Considering all this, I located my glasses and felt tremendous relief as the world came into focus, including a cage housing a beautiful snowy owl.

"Hedwig?"

She gave me a pleasant hoot in greeting.

I stroked her soft plumage. "Am I really here, Hedwig? Am I really Harry Potter?"

She gave me a look that implied I was some kind of idiot and followed with a brief nip at my fingers, apparently aware that I had forgone the pinch test earlier.

I chuckled for the first time since awakening. "Okay, I get your point. I don't suppose you could tell me what today is?"

She actually rolled her eyes – very impressive on an owl, I must say – and scratched at the bottom of her cage. Of course, the newspaper!

An untouched _Daily Prophet_ lay at the foot of the bed. It must have been delivered while I was having my self-awareness crisis in the loo. So the _Prophet_ was useful for something besides lining owl cages.

I grinned up at Hedwig. "Thanks girl." She assumed a proud indifferent stance that I took as acceptance that we were okay.

It didn't occur to me that I was much more acquiescent than I would have imagined, given the radical changes thrown upon me so suddenly. Of course, it was very hard to deny this full-sensory immersion experience, and I was just dealing with it the best I could.

I checked the date on the paper's masthead – Wednesday, 23 July, 1997. For me, last night was Sunday, 22 July, 2007, exactly ten years to the day – an entire decade. Concentrating on that part of my memory, I recalled that party again – of course! It had been a gathering of devoted Harry Potter fans, some forty hours after the release of the final seventh volume, and we had commandeered the back room of a local restaurant for spirited discussions about plotlines, characters, themes – you name it. I had participated in one particular debate that involved strategizing Harry's moves if he could go back in time to various points in his life, retaining full knowledge of what happened the first time around.

Silly fantasizing – or so I thought.

Now I was living that fantasy.

Had I wished myself into a book and made it real? Was such a thing even possible?

I sat on the bed and tried to reconcile what I remembered reading in the seven books with what my other set of memories contained. There were a few inconsistencies regarding names and places, but mostly it was like having a sketch of a life that had suddenly come alive in full color, texture, sound and smell, but even that didn't really convey the full impact; it was more than I could possibly form into words.

Confirming the date in the _Prophet_ , I could recall no "real-life Harry" experiences that corresponded with what I had read in the seventh book. I thought more about it – the dark, emotional trek in the coming months – so many killings, broken lives, impossible trials and suffering throughout – and only vague references to the worst of it, which thankfully happened off-page. The fully inked events were bad enough; the very first chapter told of the sickening murder of the Muggle Studies professor, which I assumed had already taken place.

I shuddered. The Order of the Phoenix would be here this Saturday to escort me away – I could almost see Voldemort and his Death Eaters hovering overhead, waiting in ambush. I looked over at Hedwig, preening in her cage, innocent and unaware of the horrible fate awaiting her. If I accomplished nothing else, I would make sure that disaster never happened.

I focused on Harry's memories of recent events, working backward: the monotony of avoiding my relatives this summer… before that a somber, lonely trip on the Hogwarts Express… the crushing hopelessness as I recalled Dumbledore's funeral, knowing that I had a monumental task ahead, but at least Ron and Hermione would help. Their steadfastness warmed my heart.

And then I thought of Ginny, and my insides burned shamefully. That had accounted for much of my loneliness on the train – I had found a compartment with Ron and Hermione but silently blocked Ginny from entering. The pained expression on her face as she turned away would haunt me forever.

 _Ah, you bollixed that one, didn't you?_ I told myself.

 _But I can't be her boyfriend right now, she'll be in danger!_ I answered back.

 _She's in danger anyway, you twit, and people remember that you were together. Look at how hard it will be for her this next year – torture in detention – and you thought Umbridge was bad!_

 _But if she tells them we broke up, and it's true, they can't keep after her for information._

 _Okay, plausible deniability may be of some benefit. I'll concede that point._

 _And people close to me always end up…_

 _No! That is_ _ **not**_ _a valid argument. You don't get to take credit for what Voldemort and Fate have done. No more wallowing in self-imposed guilt, pity and delusions of martyrdom! You've been hearing too much of your uncle and Snape over the years and ignoring everything else, including your own heart, which is big enough to save the world, but too thick-skinned to see things objectively._

 _But the prophecy! I've got to…_

 _Yeah, so what? Get over yourself! Do you honestly think you're the first person that was given a nasty job to do? Or had a target painted on his back? Or people surrounding him sworn to lay down their lives for that person, if not the cause he represents? Let's see, how about almost every head of state in the history of the world, just for starters? And it's not like you actually have to kill the bastard yourself – you trick him into doing his own dirty deed._

 _Doesn't it still feel like murder?_

 _In case you haven't heard it before, war is hell, and this is a war. All those who wage it and anyone that survives it are affected with an ugly stain on the soul. However horrible it is, such an experience manages to carve away all the pettiness, vanity and other irrelevant crap that we usually pad around ourselves, revealing essential truths, such as that some things exist in this world that cannot be allowed to stand._

 _Meaning Voldemort's brand of evil must be eliminated, whatever the cost?_

 _Yes, for as its time increases, so does the cost. But remember that you are not alone in your task. Think of it as a Quidditch match – you're the Seeker and you have to catch the Snitch to end the game, but it's not your job to hit the Bludgers or shoot the Quaffle. Let your team do their jobs._

 _But I can't let them keep putting their lives on the line for me. The Order…_

 _Would you not put your life on the line for any of them?_

 _Yeah, of course!_

 _Then stop being a hypocrite trying to deny them the same opportunity. They have already made a pledge to help you to their last breath, so get used to it and accept it. To do otherwise insults them. And a little forgiveness all around goes a long way, yourself included. Let's hope Ginny forgives as well. She's miserable about all this, you know._

 _You're okay with Ginny?_

 _Why wouldn't I be? It's not like I had any current emotional attachments. I'm part of you now, and you are head over arse crazy about the girl whether you admit it or not. I'm certainly not going to let you drop her because you want to be stupidly noble._

 _Ouch – using her words against me… that's cruel._

 _No, just being a good conscience. Once we decide how to deal with Tom, we've got to figure out this thing about having a real love life._

 _In some ways that scares me more than Tom…_

 _As it should. Tom is temporary, after all._

 _Exactly. However, your level of… experience… doesn't really boost my confidence, you know?_

 _Hey, we are not talking about me here! This is all about Harry, who is now both of us…_

The voices in my head bantered back and forth over love, life, war, tactics, and a few less serious topics for some time. As common ground and understanding was reached, the two minds gradually merged together.

 _Given the situation and knowledge available at the time, separating from Ginny was warranted, but it was handled very poorly. Hopefully she won't curse me too severely when I get to the Burrow… I've certainly got a lot of explaining to do… enough groveling may spare me from her Bat Bogey hex if I'm lucky... Ron won't be much better, but Hermione can be distracted with the revelations I have… but how much to tell them?_

I would no longer see myself as two distinct persons. From that point on the two sets of life experience were merely two facets of what I now claimed as my own. "We" had become just "me."

 _Assuming that the seventh book does describe actual events, I have an incredible amount of foreknowledge – Voldemort's strategies, what objects and where the pieces of his soul are stored, his current hideout… I just have to be able to act on it before variations in the flow of events render most of my knowledge to be of no practical use…_

It hit me like a troll's club – I had the opportunity… no, the _responsibility_ to change things. With a new conviction, I knew that I could employ those strategies from last night's discussion and avoid the senseless deaths, the debacle at the ministry, the misery of the whole following year as wizarding Britain cowered under Voldemort and his blood-purist zealots.

At least I hoped I could. It seemed so easy when it was simply entertainment.

Well, there was only one way to find out, and it wasn't going to happen if I sat on my arse brooding all day.

"Kreacher!"

A sudden crack heralded the arrival of the aptly named house-elf that I had inherited from Sirius Black, my Godfather, who had died in that nightmarish mission to rescue _me_ from my attempt to rescue _him_ at the Ministry over a year earlier.

His voice was hoarse and oddly deep for such a small being. "The half-blood master calls Kreacher?" he grunted, none too happy to be summoned.

"Kreacher, I have not been a very good master to you, and for that I wish to apologize. I have heard about your former master, Regulus, and I know he was very appreciative of you."

His bulbous bloodshot eyes became even larger, if that was possible. "Master Harry knows of Master Regulus?"

"Yes, Kreacher, I never had the pleasure of meeting him, but I know that he did some very brave things. Would you do me the favor of telling me about him?"

Expected as it was, the sudden transformation in the elf's demeanor was remarkable. His expression brightened as he began the tale of who had obviously been his favorite of all the Blacks. Unfortunately for Sirius, Regulus was also favored by their parents, a situation I knew well. I had obviously never been a father, but it vexed me to know that so many adults played their kids against each other, and I could not recall a single instance where at least one of the parties involved had not suffered for it. Aunt Petunia hated my mom because of jealousy and what appeared to her as favoritism, and she responded by carrying the practice to new heights with her "Ickle Dinky Duddikins" over the nephew unworthy to see the light of day outside his tiny cupboard under the damned spider-ridden stairs. I vowed that I would do my best to avoid such favoritism should I ever be blessed with children of my own – they would all be equally loved.

Kreacher's tale also gave me considerable insight into the workings of a well-placed pure-blood wizarding family. There were responsibilities to society, which meant participating not only in government but serving as a lynchpin in the upper class social network, all the while maintaining a host of protocols and a respectable image. I could easily see why Sirius sought the escape offered by my dad and his family. He was an independent who would not bow to tradition simply because it was tradition.

Regulus, on the other hand, was a conformist, eager to please, and would act in a role whenever asked. He apparently became a Death Eater without considering the full ramifications of what he had gotten into until it was too late. But he had ultimately defined his life with an unheralded selfless act of defiance against Voldemort, even sacrificing himself to protect the pitiful house-elf who was now beside himself with grief, for Kreacher was unable to fulfill his master's final order to destroy the soul-imbedded locket that they had recovered from that horrid cave by the sea, the same cave where Dumbledore and I barely survived our attempt to recover that same locket. Regulus had gotten there first, leaving a note in a fake replacement locket. Dumbledore died later that same evening, never knowing that we had failed.

Kreacher had finally run out of steam and stood sobbing with his head hanging almost to the floor.

I knelt down in front of him. "Regulus would be extremely proud for all you have done, Kreacher. I found something of his that I know he would want you to have." I held out the locket Regulus had left in the cave.

He stared at it in shock, before bursting into a horrible wail. "Kreacher failed his master! Kreacher is a bad elf!"

He turned to fling himself at the wall, but I had anticipated this and caught his arms. "Stop, Kreacher! You are not to punish yourself for any reason. Regulus would not think you a failure, because you tried to complete his task with everything you had. He did not know that the enchantments were beyond the knowledge of house-elves, and he would want you to have this as a reward for your excellent efforts."

He finally calmed somewhat and reverently took the Black locket in his hands. "Kreacher does not know what to say. Master is too kind to Kreacher, to give him something of good Master Regulus."

I spoke more quietly. "I want to see Regulus' task completed as well. I know how to destroy the Dark Lord's locket from the cave, if you can help me find it."

"Master Harry will help Kreacher if Kreacher helps Master Harry?" he croaked.

"Yes, Kreacher, you are indeed a worthy elf."

He gave a long sniff and swiped his arm across his face before bowing to the floor. "Kreacher is ready to serve."

"Thank you, Kreacher; you honor the Ancient and Noble House of Black." I was laying it on a bit heavily, but I really needed to get this done, and I couldn't very well take the time to plan an infiltration of the Ministry of Magic as told in the book. I was in a hurry.

"I know the locket was once at Grimmauld Place, but I believe Mundungus Fletcher stole it. He might still have it, but he was going to sell it to Madame Delores Umbridge, Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic. She probably has it by now. I need you to retrieve it without getting caught. Create a fake one to replace it if necessary. Bring the locket to me when I am alone. I repeat – you must do this _without getting caught_. Let no one see you."

Determination covered his features. "Kreacher will do it."

I nodded with a smile, and he disappeared with another loud crack.

Operation Locket was underway.

o o o

1.02

0805 WEDNESDAY

"Put that back, boy! That's more than you're allowed!"

I'm embarrassed to know that I am the same species as this man. Honestly, it was one fried egg on toast.

"Uncle Vernon, I cooked the same amount for you that I always do. I'm hungry and I have a lot to do today if my idea is going to have a chance."

The redirection seemed to work. "So we won't have to leave after all? We can stay here and you'll be gone with those freakish friends of yours and leave us alone?"

"No guarantees, but I feel pretty good about it." I took a bite before he could yank away my meager rations.

Aunt Petunia and Dudley stared as if they never seen me eating a real breakfast. Come to think of it, they probably hadn't.

I swallowed before continuing, "You need to proceed with the original plan, just in case the mission isn't completed fully. If everything goes as I hope, unpacking will be no big deal. In the event I fail miserably, then you can probably stay anyway. It's unlikely they'll come after you once I'm dead."

Aunt Petunia recoiled. "That… man… who killed Lily?"

I looked at her and nodded. "Some stupid prophecy made before I was born said I'm the one that punches his ticket. Ironically, he's set himself up so I can. And I plan on making it happen."

Talk of confrontation piqued Dudley's interest. "You can really take this guy? Isn't he supposed to be like super powerful?"

"Yeah, he's powerful, but your Aunt Lily did something really amazing by giving up her life for me, bestowing upon me a power greater than he will ever know – the power of love. It sounds corny, but it was the reason I beat him as a baby and again in my first year at school. And it's kept me alive the other times we've met. It's also what has protected all of us here in this house, because Professor Dumbledore made sure that power would work through her blood relative, your mum. Unfortunately, that protection expires next week as soon as I come of age in our world, which is why all the escape planning."

The light seemed to come on in Dudley's eyes, but Uncle Vernon remained unconvinced.

"Pure stuff and nonsense," he muttered.

o o o

1.A

 **A/N:** This all began when I read a "Harry Potter goes back in time" mirror moment, and I tried my hand at the same thing except that the character was instead a Harry Potter fan, and although this might appear at first to be a self-insert, it is definitely not. I apologize in advance if you dislike interweaving real-world references into the HP world. I wrote half the story and left it for several years on my laptop; deciding that the 10th anniversary of the DH release was as good as opportunity as any to finally get the full version of this fic out to you readers. I plan on publishing 10 chapters over the next 10 weeks. I hope you enjoy.

 **Disclaimer:** I claim nothing of the Harry Potter universe; this is a transformative work solely for entertainment purposes and no galleons (or other denomination) were transacted.

o


	2. Trial & Error

**A/N:** As a thanks for all the lovely reviews wanting to see more, I am posting this chapter early. Still staging and preparations, and Ginny makes her first appearance.

* * *

 **2\. Trial and Error**

o o o

2.01

0920 WEDNESDAY LITTLE WHINGING SURREY

"Dobby!"

Another small odd-looking being, much younger than Kreacher, suddenly appeared in my bedroom with a resounding crack.

"The great Harry Potter called Dobby?" he asked eagerly.

I smiled at him. House-elves really needed to get some sense of self. First person pronouns weren't a regular part of their vocabulary. In fact, they weren't keen on pronouns at all. I should bring that up with Hermione sometime when I need to keep her occupied.

"Dobby, you don't have to call me 'great,' just Harry is fine."

He looked up with his green golf-ball eyes. "But Harry Potter is the greatest wizard alive."

Both Dobby and Kreacher were demonstrative in their own way, but Dobby was a special case. Formerly bound to the Malfoy family, he was the only house-elf I had ever known that expressed a desire to be free, and I, as the "great Harry Potter," had tricked Lucius Malfoy into making that a reality. I felt I owed it to him, even though he had nearly gotten me killed in the name of protecting me.

"Dobby, you know I am not of age until next week, so I'm not allowed to do magic outside school. However, I need to do some things in the next few days, and I was wondering if you would be available to help me out, especially with getting around." That was really only the first part of the question, but I hesitated on asking him about what I really needed him for until I had conferred with someone else.

He seemed very pleased that I would even think to ask. "Of course, Harry Potter, sir. Dobby will do what whatever is needed!"

"Great! I just need to check something…" I rummaged in my trunk and removed the blank parchment that I knew was the Marauders Map that my father and his friends had created while in school. I touched my wand to it and whispered, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good." As I watched the lines depicting the rooms and passages of Hogwarts appear across the paper, I wondered how Fred and George Weasley were able to guess the password when they first acquired the map. Kindred spirits to the Marauders, I supposed.

I found what I was looking for and that the area was deserted at the moment.

"OK, Dobby, first stop is Hogwarts, the seventh floor corridor outside the Room of Requirement."

We disappeared from my bedroom with another loud crack.

Operation Diadem had commenced.

o o o

2.02

0925 WEDNESDAY HOGWARTS CASTLE

I was pleased to easily remember where I had stashed my potions textbook from the previous term, the one written by the Half-Blood Prince, a.k.a. Severus Snape, whose notes had taught me more about the subject than the man himself ever did. It was a shame that he neglected to share that brilliance in the classroom, and the magical education of nearly a generation of Hogwarts students had suffered for it.

I also found the primary target of my visit, but I was going to be very careful handling it, since it had been quickly destroyed during events described in the book before we knew whether or not it had any dark curses protecting it. I found an old scarf nearby and used it to wrap the relic before placing it in my rucksack, marveling that only one other living person knew it still existed.

I left the Room of Requirement and closed the door, and then I walked by it three times wishing for something completely different. I opened the door to a training room similar to what we had used for Dumbledore's Army in fifth year.

I wanted to get a little practice for what I had planned, and there was still that part of me yet to be convinced that I really could do magic spells.

I trained my wand on a dueling dummy that appeared in front of me and began to fire hexes.

o o o

2.03

1140 WEDNESDAY HOGWARTS CASTLE

The headmaster's office was empty of live humans, as I knew it would be. However, the Marauder's Map would not show the assembly of past headmasters that resided in their portraits festooning the office walls, as they were not living but merely representations of their memories. All of them were pretending to be snoozing at the moment, but I knew better.

I addressed my diminutive escort. "Thank you very much, Dobby. Could you bring some sandwiches from the kitchens? And bring yourself something as well."

"Dobby is only too pleased to serve Harry Potter, sir. Harry Potter is too kind to ask Dobby to join him."

"Dobby, you are my friend. Why would I not want to eat with you?"

He looked up with reverence in eyes. "Harry Potter is too good to Dobby." And with a crack he was off to the kitchens.

I strolled behind the desk to the largest portrait where Albus Dumbledore, with more names and titles than would fit on his chocolate frog card, sat comfortably in the frame with his eyes twinkling merrily.

"Greetings, Harry, this is a most pleasant surprise. I did not expect to see you here for a few weeks yet. And your choice of transportation is most ingenious."

"Hello, sir," I returned, nodding. "I truly was not expecting to be here today myself."

That was the understatement of the year.

"Dobby seems to enjoy helping me," I continued, "and I need the assistance until next week when I can do magic on my own. I wish I was here merely on a courtesy call, but I must ask you a favor. I need to retrieve Gryffindor's sword from behind your portrait – the real one. I know you willed it to me."

The late headmaster sat up straighter. "A most interesting request, Harry. Frankly, I expected the Ministry to delay passing that information to you until the last possible moment, and to refuse honoring my stated wishes even then."

I couldn't decide at the moment whether Dumbledore was that good at divination (not likely), that scary smart (possibly), or was up to his painted pointy hat in planning this mischief (probably), so I side-stepped his little trap. "I heard about the will from another source, and I anticipated the same as you. So," I said with an innocent smile, "I came to get it before they tell me I can't."

I heard mutterings of disapproval from other portraits around the room at my brazenness.

"Ah, I wish it was that simple, Harry, but the Sword of Gryffindor must be acquired in a time of need, a time for brave and valiant deed…"

"Sir, are you implying that my killing the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets and destroying that diary to save a young girl's soul was unworthy? Or should I have just kept it afterward? I was the first to claim it in several hundred years as I recall."

He had the decency to lower his head, eyes no longer twinkling. "Excellent points, Harry, but there are certain things that must take place in a particular order."

It was time to play my trump card, even though it would reveal more than I liked. "You mean things like setting up many of my closest friends in an absurdly risky operation that might get any of them killed, just to insure your spy's place in the enemy camp? I wonder the odds of your portrait remaining intact on this wall if Molly Weasley were to find out the full extent of your involvement, endangering her family…"

Hisses and angry shouts rang out as I faced down the greatest wizard of the age. We ignored them all.

Dumbledore had a blank expression for a moment before smiling and regaining that twinkle in his eyes, an odd effect in a painting.

"You have received foreknowledge in some fashion?"

Maybe wizard paintings can perform Legilimancy, or maybe he is that scary smart. Regardless, I was busted.

I nodded, then I figured – in for a knut, in for a galleon.

"Sir, I don't know much about the magic involved in creating your portrait, but I get the impression that, in your two-dimensional disembodied state, you may have forgotten that the rest of us out here are still flesh and blood. I understand your motives, but it is an extremely dangerous plan. Casualties are a certainty."

Dumbledore sank heavily in his chair, looking every bit of his one hundred and fifteen years. "This weekend – it does not go well?"

"No, it doesn't, not according to my source. Most of us survive, in my case only through a miraculous intervention of my wand, acting of its own accord, something I doubt even you could foresee. Unless, of course, you intend for my wand to be tested against Voldemort, knowing that it will be strengthened that way. After all, assuming my information is accurate, he cannot kill me personally."

That Dumbledore would knowingly place me in front of the madman just for that purpose seemed ludicrous, but I was not taking anything for granted anymore.

I continued, "But that doesn't apply to the Order members assigned to protect me, does it? I cannot allow their lives put at such risk unnecessarily."

"Indeed, you have learned a great deal more than I had expected at this point. You are creating a plan of action?"

"Yes, sir. Instead of tempting fate by following through on this mission, I propose to use it as an opportunity. While most of Voldemort's forces are gathered over Surrey expecting me, I can make an unannounced visit to Wiltshire. I need the sword to kill Nagini."

Nagini, Voldemort's pet snake, was a nasty specimen that was also harboring one of his orphaned soul fragments, and I knew that he was currently staying at Malfoy Manor with his master.

Dobby returned at that moment bearing a platter of sandwiches and a pitcher of pumpkin juice for me. I didn't ask what he had in his pitcher, but it was cloudy with dark wriggling things in suspension – some kind of Elf-ade, I guessed.

Dumbledore gave us a moment to settle in before weighing in. "Harry, I agree that your plan has merit, but timing is important. It would be imprudent to go after Nagini before destroying the others, else Voldemort may suspect…"

He paused at the obvious grin that I was flashing his way. His eyes twinkled madly once more. "Of course, you have discovered them already. Excellent, Harry! Which items have you located?"

"All of them, sir. At least I know what and where they are. In fact, this morning Dobby helped me recover the one we didn't know from the Room of Lost Things, one of the Room of Requirement's transfigurations."

I removed a small bundle from my rucksack and unwrapped it carefully on the headmaster's desk, revealing an old but beautiful tiara – the Diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw, which was believed lost centuries ago. Dobby watched with a wary expression; I had warned him that it may have dangerous enchantments.

"Incredible!" There was an unmistakable glee in his voice. "This is truly unexpected. I imagine you have quite the story to share…"

"Yes, alas, it is not my story to tell. However, you might be able to tempt it out of a particular ghost here, or you can just read about it like I did, but you will have to wait about ten years."

"Since you have made the intimation, certainly you will not frustrate me again by not telling how you have managed all this."

I sighed. "Unfortunately, I don't really know much. I was hoping that you might help explain it. I can tell you what happened…"

I explained my unusual morning and my surprise at being in this world that I had assumed only existed between the pages of a book and the imaginations of its author and readers. I hoped the headmaster would give some sort of rationalization, but he remained evasive.

"Ah, the revelation of that kind of mystery is not my department, Harry. All things have a purpose and a time, and I am sure that the answer will be made known to you quite soon."

In other words, he knew something, but was not letting on. It was his way, requiring his students to work out solutions on their own, so the lesson would be remembered. It didn't work both ways, however, as he, the teacher, expected answers to his questions.

Without mentioning the Deathly Hallows specifically, I briefly outlined the tale of the final volume of the story, and how eventually all the pieces of the puzzle were made to fit together to accomplish the defeat of Voldemort after almost a year of frustration, and the painful costs incurred. I said nothing of Dobby's fate, since he was listening with rapt fascination.

Dumbledore was beside himself as I told of Professor Snape's final dying act – releasing his memories to me so that I would know that the final sacrifice needed to be mine.

"Harry," he pleaded, "you cannot imagine my struggle deciding how to break that horrible news to you. My greatest desire for you was to live as much a normal life as possible for as long as you could safely do so. You certainly deserved it, but for all our efforts it remained an elusive goal. You remember my reasons for the delay in sharing the prophecy with you…"

"Yes, sir, I know why you were reluctant, and I understand. I'm not sure how I would have reacted had I known any sooner. At least the way it played out in the book, I didn't have any time to dwell on it. It had to be done, so I just did it. I hope I can do as well this time."

"I would expect no less of you, Harry."

I had to tell him about the Resurrection Stone. "When I got to the forest, sir, apparently all of what had happened before… it just got to me. I didn't see how I could go in there alone. I opened the snitch – I used the thing inside – I brought my parents back, along with Sirius and Remus, and they walked with me, not that I wanted to keep them here, but they could escort me… onward. It helped give me the strength to reach his camp and stand in front of him. Just before that, I dropped the… thing there, where no one could find it again and it would be buried in debris, hopefully for the rest of time."

Dumbledore looked thoughtful as he stroked his beard. "Yes, that would be an excellent disposition for it. A similar opportunity may present itself; only time will tell. You mentioned Remus was there?"

"Yes, sir, he was one of the fifty killed in that battle just before. It was horrible…"

"I can understand your desire to prevent those events from occurring in this timeline, Harry."

Something that had been simmering deep in my thoughts popped to the surface. "Sir, I had always heard about changing things through time travel being impossible because it could create a time paradox. Can I _really_ make things different?"

He smiled, enjoying the opportunity to slip back into professor mode. "You are correct about the impossibility of a time paradox. Repetition of a specific period in time is rife with potential that something may occur the second time around that makes the original sequence impossible to continue. However, magic has some capability to avoid such situations. You are familiar with time turners, I believe?"

I remembered the chaotic events near the end of my third year, when Hermione – carrying an hour-glass shaped device she had been using all year – took us both back in time several hours to use our knowledge of events to save both Sirius and Buckbeak the Hippogriff from certain execution and to fight off the dementors that threatened all of us. The activities of both times were oddly meshed so that one could not have occurred without the other.

"That's when I learned to do the Patronus Charm properly. I knew I could do it the second time because I had already seen it done during the first time."

"Exactly!" Dumbledore beamed. "Time turners utilize a very complicated magic that enables – in fact _requires_ – the precise synchronization of two sets of actions from those using it. To the lay person it would seem to predestinate one's actions, but in fact it allows time to exist multi-dimensionally, rather than as a single-dimensional line, as we typically experience it. There is a limit to its capabilities, as you might imagine."

I had not the slightest idea of what he was talking about; theory was more Hermione's thing. I needed practical information. "What happens if its limits are exceeded – or in the odd case like mine – and the timeline diverges?"

"That's why warnings are included with its use," Dumbledore chuckled. "However, we have already said that a time paradox is an impossibility; therefore, it would necessitate the creation of an alternate parallel timeline."

"So… I'm in a parallel timeline? Those things in the book – they actually happen in that timeline?"

"From what little is understood about the workings of time, that can be assumed to be so."

I shook my head. Somewhere – Remus, Tonks, Fred, Mad-Eye, Snape and all the others – they were still going to die, and I could do nothing to stop it.

"Harry, it does no good to dwell on that we cannot change. You have come here to improve things in this timeline, so we should concentrate on that."

He was right, of course.

I finished describing the confrontation in the forest and my discussion with the real Albus Dumbledore in the virtual Kings Cross Station.

"It is good to have confirmation that one is enjoying his next great adventure," chortled the portrait Albus. "Thank you, Harry. Now, I will cease prattling so that you may continue with what I'm certain will be an exciting conclusion to your tale."

I tried not to disappoint him.

"Excellent!" he proclaimed afterward. "A showdown in the Great Hall, very theatrical – a fine moving picture the Muggles will make of it, no doubt."

I had to laugh at his exuberance. "Yes, they probably will. But, sir, I don't want another great showdown if it can be avoided. I don't want to be the stuff of legends – not for this, anyway. It's bad enough being the Boy Who Lived. And all the carnage… It may be great for the cinema box office, but these people who fought and died are real people, not actors faking it before a camera. There's also the misery that happens between now and then…

"Dobby has been helping me in the Room of Requirement, and if you think he can help, I would like to ask his assistance this weekend. I think we can get the drop on them. If we have eliminated all the soul fragments but me, I may be able to force a confrontation with Voldemort. I'll be vulnerable after his attack, assuming I survive it as before. It leaves a lot more to chance than I like…"

Dumbledore reviewed every detail of our plan, making a number of refinements. Oddly enough, Dobby was more than thrilled to return to Malfoy Manor to cause a little mischief. I just hoped I could keep him safe and out of the path of flying cursed daggers this time. Over the next half hour, he and Dumbledore taught me more about house-elf magic than I ever knew existed. We argued over a few items, but eventually developed a strong plan based on the information we had.

o o o

2.04

1300 WEDNESDAY GRINGOTTS LONDON

The cart skidded to a stop after its dizzying ride into the bowels of the earth under Diagon Alley. I stepped out and joined my escort as he held out his hand for my vault key. We were totally isolated from prying eyes and ears.

"Griphook, may I speak to you of a very sensitive matter?"

The goblin looked up at me quizzically. "Of course, Mr. Potter, especially if it is a Gringotts concern."

"In a way it is. I'm sure you are aware of the deteriorating situation in the Ministry of Magic these days."

"Yes, Mr. Potter. We goblins may appear aloof from the politics of humans, but we have an obligation to our clients that requires staying abreast of current events."

"I have intelligence that a _coup_ is imminent, and you can probably guess that disruption of wizarding society will not be good for Gringotts business. Loyalties will be divided among the goblins, and those who do not agree with procedures established by the new regime will probably have to go into hiding."

"We have heard rumors of such events, and you are correct in that there is some… _disagreement_ in the Goblin High Council." He narrowed his eyes. "You are very perceptive – why do you bring this to my attention?"

"Griphook, there is an object hidden in one of the vaults here – a stolen object that has been cursed with very evil dark magic. Its magic is connected with those that seek to control the magical community by force. It is imperative that this object be removed so that it can be destroyed, else it will be impossible to prevent the downfall of the ministry. We need to keep this as quiet as possible. Is there an individual who can authorize such a confiscation who is also against going along with a new regime among wizards?"

He stared at me for several moments, unblinking. "You ask a considerable favor, Mr. Potter. If, however, you are correct in your assessments, this needs to be addressed immediately. I will arrange a meeting as soon as we return."

Griphook was as good as his word. It wasn't long before we were seated in a private conference room with Ragnok, one of the senior goblins at this branch, and Bill Weasley, who worked there as a curse breaker. The scars from Greyback's attack were still raw, but slowly working their way from grotesque to awesomely cool. That was Bill's way, and it made me a bit envious.

"What is this item, and what proof do you have of its history, Mr. Potter?" Ragnok asked roughly.

"What we discuss here will remain between us?" I asked, trying not to show my nervousness.

Ragnok scowled at my questioning one of Gringotts' touted guiding principles. "Of course, Mr. Potter. This institution thrives on confidences."

"Yes, I know, I'm just a bit paranoid about this… There is a golden cup with historical significance as a relic of Helena Hufflepuff, one of the founders of Hogwarts. It was stolen many years ago from one of her descendants by the dark wizard who calls himself Voldemort. He framed one of the owner's house-elves for the theft. He later put an evil curse on the cup before giving it to Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange for safe-keeping in their vault here at Gringotts. I am here because I know how to remove the curse."

"You seem to know quite a bit about this cup," said Bill. "What kind of curse is this that makes it our concern?"

"You must understand that I am going beyond my directive by asking for your help. I prefer not to divulge that if it is not absolutely necessary."

"This is your mission for Dumbledore?" he said quietly.

I debated internally for a moment, but I really had no choice. The circle of knowledge would have to expand, if only a bit. I let out a long breath. "Yes."

"Be that as it may," Ragnok intoned, "confiscation of anything in a depositor's vault requires more than the word of an individual. You must give us some kind of evidence."

"I do have an item that has a similar curse. Would that help convince you?"

"Let us see," Ragnok sneered, "then we decide."

I slowly brought out the bundle with Ravenclaw's diadem. Before I unwrapped it, I warned, "Do not touch this or place any destructive spells on it."

I laid the ancient tiara on the table. As Bill muttered a few diagnostic spells, Ragnok stretched his palm toward it, before snatching it back as if burned.

He leapt from his chair and took an angry step back. "Mr. Potter, you have committed an atrocity against goblin society by bringing that foul object here. The fact that it is an ancient goblin-crafted masterpiece makes the crime even more horrendous. Give me a reason that I should not chain you in a deep cavern and bury you alive."

I quickly replaced the diadem in my rucksack. "I did not come here to offend you, sir, or the goblin nation. Rather, I have been tasked with eliminating this threat to your society as well as ours. I humbly ask only for your assistance to remove the other cursed item from the premises."

Ragnok's eyes bored into me, attempting to gauge my trustworthiness. I stared back, pleading.

His voice, when it came, was low and gravelly. "What would you do if we refused to allow you this golden cup?"

The question took me aback, yet I felt anything other than direct honesty would get me thrown out of the bank faster than I could say "galleon."

"Sir, I would attempt to break in and remove it illegally."

He gave a deep rumble that I interpreted as a scoffing laugh. "Even though you know this is impossible…"

"With all respect, sir, it is not impossible. Voldemort himself broke in a few years ago, and I have all confidence that it can be done with a good bit of planning and the help of a resourceful goblin willing to violate his own code of ethics for a greater cause." I hazarded a glance at Griphook, who appeared disgusted at the thought one of his kind would stoop so low. Hopefully, he would not be confronted with the choice this time around.

"A greater cause?"

"We are talking about survival here, preserving any shred of decency in the magical community, not just for goblins or wizards, but for all magical races."

Ragnok contemplated for a time before eyeing me once more. "Mr. Potter, you make extremely unusual demands, but we realize that these are unusual times, and I am inclined to grant you a measure of latitude beyond that even warranted by your position."

"My position?"

"You are regarded by goblins as a wizard worthy of trust, and it is known that you have an essential role to play in settling the current state of unrest. We have our own… methods of prognosticating events. You are also the designated successor to a clan of wizard aristocracy, the so-called Ancient and Noble House of Black. When you obtain majority you will be able to claim the title of Lord Black."

Stunned, I looked at each of them in turn. "I didn't know…"

"Dumbledore didn't tell you?" Bill asked, curious. "It was part your inheritance from Sirius."

"He mentioned the house and the money, but he was most concerned about their house-elf. Is there anything else I need to know about? Am I a Lord Potter as well?"

"While Potter is a respected name in magical society," intoned Griphook, picking up a document, "they were not of the noble class. Your parents had all liquid assets placed in trust for you in the vault you currently use. Upon majority you are to receive title to the two properties that are all else that remain of the Potter estate."

"Properties? Where… what are those?"

"There is, of course, the Godric's Hollow cottage maintained by the Ministry, as well as another larger rural tract that was your grandparents' residence. I believe it is also in the West Country, but is currently unplottable so I cannot give you a precise locale. The house was destroyed by fire in the last wizard war, but some outbuildings may remain."

Holy hippogriffs – counting Grimmauld Place, I owned three properties! None of them were fit for occupation, and I might not ever be able to find the one, but I certainly had options to consider after… assuming I had an after…

"Right, that's… good to know. I will meet with you later about all that. Mr. Ragnok, what were you about to say about the relic held in the Lestrange vault?"

"You give your assurance that you will remove this abomination from Gringotts and destroy the evil within?" he asked, waving his hand toward my rucksack.

"Of course, sir. Then the cup…?"

"This cup shall be inspected and if it contains this same magic, it will be confiscated and the Lestranges shall be immediately notified of their loss of privilege at Gringotts."

"No, no! They must not be told! We cannot let them suspect it has been removed."

"Mr. Potter, this is goblin law, and I am already making concessions for you…"

"Can you at least delay the proceedings for a week?" I desperately needed them to understand. "I must complete the task, and it will be incredibly more difficult if they discover what I am doing."

Bill had been silent for some time but spoke with a quiet intensity. "Harry, I have only seen this once before, in the tomb of a minor Egyptian pharaoh well known for his depravity. They refer to it as the 'Shard of Life' and consider it a madman's abhorrent imprudence. Fiendfyre was the only remedy we found for it. Surely Dumbledore would not require you to deal with such horrors..."

"No, it is a burden placed upon me by Fate, and Dumbledore would have done anything to lift it from me. In fact, his efforts eventually ended his life."

Bill was appalled. "Are you saying that You-Know-Who had _three_ of these? Did Dumbledore at least eliminate the one?"

I sighed again. "Dumbledore was successful on that one, and I destroyed another four years ago using the only other known remedy – Basilisk venom."

Bill looked as if he was about to faint, closing his eyes. "The diary… oh, Ginny…"

He returned his gaze to me. "How many, Harry?"

I cleared my throat. "Seven, altogether."

Bill shook his head. "Truly a madman..."

"Mad, yes. A man, hardly. Not anymore."

"We will assist you, Mr. Potter," said Ragnok, "to attain this cup. Then you must leave here at once. May you find success in your endeavor. We shall not speak of this again."

I bowed respectfully, and we left for the lower reaches of the wizarding bank.

Operation HuffleCup was finally in motion.

o o o

2.05

1420 WEDNESDAY OTTERY ST CATCHPOLE DEVON

A loud crack found us standing in the shade of an orchard. "Thank you, Dobby. You've been brilliant today."

The little elf was grinning from floppy ear to floppy ear. "Dobby is always glad to help the great Harry Potter. Does Dobby go on his next mission now?"

"Yes, and I'm going to tell you the same thing that I told Kreacher. It's extremely important that you don't get caught. Do everything necessary to stay out of sight. Just set the charms that we talked about, and then return to Hogwarts. I'll need you to take me back to my relatives later tonight."

Dobby glanced skyward as a flash of red zipped overhead. He grinned at me again as he replied, "Of course, Harry Potter, sir!" before disappearing with another crack.

I followed the blur streaking above the trees, part of me wondering if I was too old for this. The other part of me argued that physically I was only a year older than her; besides, hadn't I gone back in time, negating that particular issue? And if it was a question of maturity – and I had known lots of teenagers for comparison – she was far beyond her nearly sixteen years. Part of that maturity had been won at a heavy price, however. She was no longer the shy little girl that had fallen prey to Voldemort's cursed diary. She had grown from that horror and since proved her strength of character many times over.

She spotted me in the orchard and performed a couple of barrel rolls to bleed off speed before descending. I couldn't help noticing that she had matured physically as well – the little girl I met at King's Cross was now a striking young woman. Her face was flushed as she strode up and a few of her fiery tresses had come loose from her ponytail, catching the afternoon sun in a radiant halo. Nothing had ever struck me as being more beautiful.

She paused a few feet away, a wary expression on her face. "Harry? I thought you weren't coming until Saturday."

My palms were sweaty and my throat had become very dry. I took a deep breath.

"I had to see you."

She didn't respond except to tilt her head with an inquisitive expression.

"Erm… maybe you had better ask me a question," I mused, "that only I would know the answer, so you can be sure it's really me."

Smirking, she asked me a very… _personal_ question about one of our private times by the lake before the end of term.

My face heated as I recalled the memory, one that was certainly _not_ in the book.

She laughed as I muttered the response. "Right – now we only have to decide if you are the Harry Potter who's funny and sweet and snogged me in front of all Gryffindor House, or the moody, serious Harry Potter who feels as if he has the whole world to save."

"Erm… that's part of why I wanted to talk to you."

She paled. "Right… serious Potter." She took my hand and led me to the edge of the wood, directing me to sit at the base of a large oak. She sank into the grass facing me, but avoiding my eyes.

"First," I began, "I need to apologize for the way I left you at the funeral. It was inconsiderate of me to just walk away without explanation, not giving you any say at all about our relationship. I can only state in my defense that I was a little distracted, but that doesn't excuse me from being a total git about it. I hope you can at least forgive me for the way I treated you."

She looked up, wondering where I was headed. "Okay… apology accepted."

"Thanks," I said with a tiny smile. "Now I want to tell you a story, and it may sound a bit odd, but I do have a reason. Once upon a time, there was a bloke in his mid-twenties, an American Muggle named Jimmy, who loved to read adventure tales. One of his very favorites was a multi-volume epic about good versus evil, a reluctant hero who overcomes overwhelming odds to eventually defeat the antagonist while learning loads – both good and bad – about life along this incredible journey. The author spent ten years delivering this remarkable story, and by the time the seventh and final volume was published, the story's devotees rushed to get a copy, eager to discover how it ended. This bloke read it and had a good chat with his friends about it, but when he woke the next morning, he was shocked beyond belief to discover that he had gone back in time to become part of the story as the main character, and had to re-live that last part of the story, hoping he could do a better job by knowing all the secrets and what was about to happen. Does that make sense so far?"

"Yeah, I've heard of stories like that, like a fantasy come alive."

"Exactly! I have here," I said, reaching into my rucksack, "the first volume of that story. It's soon to be a best-seller in the Muggle world."

I handed her the brand new book I had found in a London bookstore that morning, a first printing of _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_.

"Oh, Harry!" she gasped, and tore through the pages, slowing at the Kings Cross scene. "This is incredible! It has all of us in here – do Ron or Mum or Dad know about this?"

She abruptly stopped turning pages. "Harry," she said anxiously, "what are you saying? What about this American bloke… and going back in time?"

I ran my fingers through the mop on my head. "I… I'm not just Harry anymore."

"What?" She stared in disbelief. "I don't understand."

"I'm saying that a part of who I am now is this Jimmy bloke from ten years in the future. When that part of me went to bed last night, it was 2007, and I woke up as Harry Potter, here in 1997, complete with all of Harry as well, memories and everything, so now I'm a combination of the two. I've already talked to Dumbledore – his new portrait at Hogwarts – and he hinted that there was an explanation, but couldn't tell me what it was."

"So… I'm confused… this other part of you… you were somebody named Jimmy and now you're Harry too, and I guess you're trying to figure out if this is some kind of dream or something."

"Yeah, that's pretty much how it was this morning."

She chuckled, and then worked her way to a full-blown howling fit, rolling in the grass with total abandon.

Of all the heroes in literature throughout history, I had to become the scrawny messy-haired teenager whose ex-girlfriend has gone completely round the twist.

"If I may ask," I said dryly, "what is so bloody hilarious about this?"

She wiped tears from her face, trying to control herself. "Don't you see? I grew up wanting to be part of the Harry Potter fairy tale, but you're the one who actually _became_ the fairy tale!"

I didn't think it quite that funny, but I was glad to see her taking it so well. "There is a good thing about this, Ginny. I know how to end it, now, before all the horrible stuff in that final book happens."

Her mirth quickly vanished. "It really is that bad?"

"Yeah, it is. When the Order comes to pick me up this Saturday, we're ambushed by Death Eaters. The night of Bill and Fleur's wedding, the ministry falls to Voldemort, and Ron, Hermione and I are on the run for months. Muggle-borns are persecuted and sent to prison for 'stealing' their magic, of all things. Death Eaters are professors at Hogwarts, teaching the Unforgivables so the next generation can train by torturing those who get detentions… until the worst part…"

"Merlin," she breathed. "It gets _worse_?"

"There's a huge battle at Hogwarts, Ginny, wrecking the castle… so many people lost… until I can finally confront Voldemort, there in the Great Hall, and put an end to it."

"You… confront…" Her eyes went wide. "That prophecy… the _Prophet_ called you the Chosen One… it's true, isn't it?"

No mental slouch, this one. I told her about that night after the ministry raid, in Dumbledore's office, and what I had learned.

"So a drunken bint is briefly overcome by… _something_ ," she fumed, "and Tom finds out, and your life is buggered for what, sixteen years? That is just so… so… oh, I can't even think about how unfair that is! At least now you know how to beat him, right? What do you have to do?"

"Dumbledore showed me last year. He let me tell Ron and Hermione, but it's time you knew as well. I need you to know, Gin."

I explained the concept of soul splitting and how Tom had done this at least five times before he came for me on Halloween. She was horrified, but not surprised, that Tom's diary had been the first one discovered, and the key to unraveling the whole mystery. I told her of the others and what was left to do.

"So you know where they are, and you just have to destroy them, right?" she pleaded. "Harry, what aren't you telling me?"

"There was the one he never meant to make… the night he attacked me, part of him was loosed and left in my scar. I… I'm a container of one of his soul fragments, too."

"And… how do you get rid of this…"

"We found that Basilisk venom and Fiendfyre both work. The container has to be destroyed beyond magical repair, you see…"

"The container? Harry James Potter!" She was on her knees, outstretched hands clenching my shoulders, her face in mine as she gritted, "You. Did. Not. Come. Here. To. Say. Goodbye! _You can't!_ There has to be some way… there must!"

Her defiance for me reminded me just how special this girl was. "Ginny, there is a way. Dumbledore figured it out."

It nearly broke her to learn that I would have to let him attack me again, but after I explained the plan for this weekend, she was a little reassured.

"Okay, but you have to tell me what happens in this book. I want to know, and I mean everything, Potter."

So I told her everything, backing up occasionally to previous years when an explanation required. It was a remarkably cleansing experience, to just get it out, to share with someone.

"So Snape is really on our side, Dumbledore died mostly from a moment of weakness, and you're half someone I don't know."

"The Deathly Hallows, Ginny – they're still very dangerous. If for some reason this weekend goes awry, you need to let Ron and Hermione know. Have Bill and Flitwick put extra enchantments around Dumbledore's tomb. Put my snitch someplace where it can never be found. And I want you to have my cloak, Gin. It's a family heirloom, and you're the closest thing I have to a real family. Promise me, Ginny."

"You wouldn't give it to Ron?"

"You guys are like – a part of me, you know? Ron is my best mate and will follow me where angels fear to tread; I reckon he's like my strength through all this. Hermione is so smart – she's like my head, sorting it all out. But you, Ginny, are my heart, my hope, my reason for being sure I make it. I didn't tell you that the book, the end of the story has an epilogue, twenty years from now – we're at Kings Cross sending two of our kids off to Hogwarts, while the third is complaining about being too young…"

"Twenty years…? Our three children…" She was quiet for a moment. "Harry, how do you feel about that?"

I grinned widely for the first time since arriving. "I think it'd be brilliant."

Suddenly she was in my arms, kissing me furiously, and I fisted her hair behind, ponytail forgotten, its sweet flowery scent filling my nostrils, holding on to make sure she was real, that she wouldn't vanish.

It was some time before we broke for air, and I was startled to see that her hair was flowing toward me, enveloping our closely held faces in a curtain of red. Then I realized that it wasn't the tree pressing against my back, it was the ground. When that happened, I neither knew nor cared. She delved into my eyes, searching, and I felt exposed, laid bare, but at this moment, with this girl, I was good with that, and I willed her to find whatever it was, who I was, that she could reassure me that this was no dream, for I had nothing to hide from her.

"Ginny…"

"Shh, Potter, the way I figure it, you're still part Harry, and the rest of you I'll just have to get to know over time. Right now, I'm investigating your snogging abilities for possible improvements."

"And… have you made any discoveries?"

"Not yet. Need more research. So shut up and kiss me again."

I had my orders, and I dutifully obeyed.

And this kiss was even better than the last, my senses overwhelmed, lost in her. I thought this must be the kiss she was saving for my birthday, something for me to remember her by… at least this time we would not be interrupted…

"Oi! What's going on here?" called the familiar voice of my best mate, his footsteps drawing near.

I guess I spoke too soon.

o


	3. Fire & Rain

**A/N:** A belated Happy Birthday to both Harry, who turned 37 recently, and to Jo, who is slightly older than 37. This chapter contains violence and coarse language; hopefully I have kept it within the T rating. And because it also contains overt references to the real world:  
 **Disclaimer:** This is a work of fiction; anything that resembles an actual person, place or event is used fictitiously. Harry Potter is owned by JK Rowling and others, and this is all just for fun.

* * *

 **3\. Fire and Rain**

o o o

3.01

1540 WEDNESDAY OTTERY ST CATCHPOLE DEVON

"I thought you weren't seeing my sister anymore, Potter."

I felt Ginny shift to my left so I could get a better view of a fuming Ron from my position on the ground.

"Erm," I responded, "we had our eyes closed?"

I probably shouldn't have been so cheeky with Ron's wand trained on me, but it was worth feeling Ginny giggling beside me.

"And he's already apologized for being a stupid prat, so leave it alone. Or else." Ginny may have been smiling, but now she had her wand pointed menacingly at her brother.

Ron finally came to his senses, lowering his arm. I could see Hermione stifling a laugh behind him.

"Alright there, Hermione?" I said, sliding around to a sitting position once more and settling Ginny sideways in my lap.

"Why, yes, Harry," Hermione beamed, "it's wonderful to see you in such good spirits. How did you get away from your relatives?"

"Dobby was kind enough to bring me over for a bit. We've got some things to talk about before next week."

"Like how you've been messing Ginny around?" Ron retorted. "You may be my best mate…"

"Ron," Ginny growled, "I warned you already. Now Harry has some very important things to say, and you best keep your gob shut and listen."

Ron was about to make some indignant retort, but Hermione – smart girl she is – wisely grabbed his arm and motioned him to sit with her. He reluctantly complied.

I then retold the events of my day, waking up confused as Harry Potter after living a different life but having the foreknowledge of the next year after reading a book from ten years in the future, and how I had begun to use that knowledge to complete my mission for Dumbledore.

Hermione focused on the part of my story that she didn't understand. "Harry, there are so many things about this that just don't make sense," she said with agitation. "No spell I've ever heard or read about comes even close to what you claim has happened to you."

"Hermione," I countered, "a little over a year ago we didn't know one could split their very soul or that there were real prophecies out there. I dare say that the Hogwarts library does not contain the entirety of human knowledge about magic or any other topic."

Hermione stole a nervous glance at Ginny, who was looking over Ron's shoulder, together reading the opening pages of _Philosopher's Stone_ as we sat at the edge of the woods. "Should we be discussing this here?" she whispered to me.

"It's okay. I've told Ginny everything, even some things about the future that I can't tell you yet, at least not until after certain events happen."

"Harry, I've told you how dangerous it is to attempt manipulating the future – "

"That's rubbish, Hermione. We are creating our own future, now." As I told her about my discussions with Dumbledore's portrait, I removed the two founders' relics I had collected so far from my rucksack.

"Do you know how many months it would be before we figured out where to find these, if I had not read that last book?" I asked, holding them in front of her. "They were exactly where the book said they were."

"That's Hufflepuff's cup?" Hermione asked in wonder. "Then if the tiara was Ravenclaw's... no, it couldn't be..."

"What was lost has been found," I smirked. "It was quite the story, how Tom acquired it and hid it in the Room of Requirement. I didn't know it at the time, but I saw it when I went there to hide the Half-Blood Prince's potions book there after my little altercation with Malfoy that landed me all those detentions. The cup Tom gave to Bellatrix to keep in her Gringotts vault. The goblins were only too glad to be shed of it after realizing what it was. Kreacher is retrieving the locket as we speak, and then we only have Nagini and Voldemort himself."

Ginny gave me a surreptitious look without moving her head, noting my omission of the little problem hiding in my scar. She seemed to understand my reluctance to share everything just yet.

"The goblins? Kreacher?" Hermione fretted. "Harry, you said Dumbledore wanted this kept confidential! How many have you told?"

"I haven't told Kreacher anything he didn't already know." I related the elf's adventures, and Hermione was predictably horrified at what Voldemort had done to him and amazed that Regulus Black had actually been a hero for the light, sacrificing his life for that of a house-elf, something probably unique in the history of wizardkind. I could already see Hermione making use of that bit of information in her campaign for elf rights.

"Bill was there with the goblins and they all realize the need for secrecy. I told Ginny because I felt she ought to know. Besides, once these books are published it will be common knowledge anyway."

"And that's another thing," she protested. "What about the International Statute of Secrecy? These books will expose the magical world!"

For some reason, that problem had not occurred to me. "I'm not sure how it happened, Hermione, but Muggles look at the magical world as a fantasy creation, like Narnia or Middle-Earth. They are fascinated with the idea of a hidden society co-existing with their own, and that's one reason the books are – or will become – so popular. That final volume that I just read was probably the largest first printing run of any book in history."

That last bit was enough to leave Hermione speechless, at least for a moment.

"Hey, mate," Ron said, still thumbing through _Philosopher's Stone_ , "this says your relatives are named Dursley, and they live at Number Four Privet Drive."

Ginny added, "It also talks about the Hogwarts Express leaving from Platform Nine and Three Quarters at Kings Cross, reached by passing through the barrier between platforms nine and ten. I thought it was just a mistake."

"Of course it is," reasoned Hermione. "There's no barrier there, even if that was the right platform."

Something clicked in my brain. "The book also says that the Leaky Cauldron is on Charing Cross Road," I added with a grin.

"But, they're all wrong..." Hermione gaped at me for about three seconds before she figured it out. "They're deliberate obfuscations!"

Ron lowered the book. "Deliberate what?"

"Like a _Confundus_ charm," I said, "except no actual magic is involved, just some verbal misdirection. It makes sense... If all the Muggles knew where these places were, they would flock there, looking for us, and Muggle repelling charms would be overwhelmed. Can you imagine Kings Cross on the first of September if they knew a magically hidden platform really existed? In the time I just came from, you can go to the area outside platforms nine, ten and eleven, and there's the rear half of a trolley sticking out of the wall with a sign above that says 'Platform Nine and Three Quarters' and the Muggle tourists all stop to pose for pictures as if they were off to Hogwarts themselves. They see it as a fine joke."

"But why change your relatives' name and address?" Ginny asked.

"I reckon it's for their own protection," I laughed, and we all enjoyed a brief vision of hoards of angry fans descending on some street called Privet Drive and chasing Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon up and around the village.

Hermione give me a calculated glare. "How do we know that you're not just making this all up? What do you really know about the future?"

I sighed. "The only thing I know about the future of the wizarding world is what I read in book seven, my seventh year in the Wizarding World, and believe me, the description of the next few months is pretty bleak. I want to prevent most of it from happening, but I have to act before things change too much. However, I remember a whole decade of Muggle events. What do _you_ want to know about the future, Hermione?"

She started to respond but was unable to form any words.

"Right," I said, "what would you say were the major happenings of the last decade in the Muggle world?"

"Oh," she brightened, "obviously there was the collapse of the Eastern Bloc, and great optimism about world peace, but fears about growing terrorism attacks and the spread of disease as world trade increases... There have been huge leaps in information technology – Harry, what about the year 2000? Some of my Muggle friends are saying that many computers and integrated circuits weren't designed to roll from 99 to 00 – at the moment the new year begins, control systems will shut down – no power or transportation – "

"Relax, Hermione, everything important gets fixed in time."

"Oh, right, then..." She looked thoughtful for a moment. "I assume that the World Wide Web isn't just a passing fad?"

Her last comment brought home how much had changed in just a decade. I told her about steady advances in technologies such as computers and televisions, and the quiet revolution that reflected fundamental changes in the ways people communicate. Hermione already knew about email, but was less familiar with other forms of instant messaging, especially with increased usage of mobile devices, and I told her the buzz about some new thing Apple was introducing called the iphone.

"People will be in the same room and send these text messages to each other instead of talking?" she asked, incredulous.

"Sometimes it's so they can chat privately while around others," I explained, "or to be able to listen to something else, or just to be clandestine about it. No need to pass notes in class anymore." Ron and Ginny were sporting similar glassy-eyed stares, so I shifted topics.

"There's a lot more emphasis on protecting the earth, with more pollution controls, recycling waste material, energy efficiency, and the like, so there's a lot of good happening. Politics and economies are always changing back and forth, so that shouldn't be a surprise." I paused, thinking how to say this.

"It's sad to say that the trends in terrorism have escalated," I continued. "There are also civil wars sprouting up all over the globe. It makes me wonder about the timing... Voldemort's Death Eaters without a leader..."

"You reckon they like to stir up trouble among Muggles?" Ron asked.

"I honestly don't know, but it would be nice to prevent a lot of that bloodshed if we could. I fought in one of those wars, and believe me, it was not a pleasant experience."

"So what is happening in your other life right now?" Ginny asked curiously.

"I hadn't really thought about that," I mused. "Let me think – this is the summer before my junior year of high school – oh, no! I'm in hospital right now, recovering from a car accident, speaking of unpleasant experiences..."

My mind began replaying images – I was remembering things that had such a profound impact on so many that one would always remember what they were doing at that moment – one of those involved madmen in airplanes and wouldn't happen for another few years and might be avoided, but another set came unbidden – returning to school after the traditional first Monday in September holiday in the States with sadness, impromptu memorials, a song by Elton John –

"Hermione, if you knew that something bad was about to happen and you knew where and when, even though it would be just a tragic accident, would you try to stop it?"

Hermione suddenly became conflicted. "Well, yes, but it still messes with history, causality, and all that! You can't just change things without consequences!"

"Even if it involves the death of the Princess of Wales?"

Ashen faces were their only responses.

o o o

3.02

0710 TUESDAY EASTERN AFGHANISTAN

"Rendezvous five minutes."

I pressed the helo up the narrow gorge, my UH-60 Black Hawk easily banking through the turns as we rounded each finger of steep rocky outcrop, racing against time. It helped that I had flown this same gorge before, hell, we had dropped the squad up here just a day ago, using a little more stealthy approach then. No need for that now.

"Three minutes. Ranger 3-9, this is Dragon 4-2 on approach. Confirm target is marked."

"Dragon 4-2, this is Ranger 3-9 Alpha squad, acknowledged. Target is marked, 200 yards right and above our position."

As part of Operation Enduring Freedom, we were running transport and support ops for troops that were combing these rugged mountains for possible hideouts of Taliban and al-Qaeda insurgents. Ever since bin Laden was flushed out of Tora Bora and scampered across the border to who-knows-where, we've been trying to take out the sneaky bastards that seem to thrive like ants throughout this impossibly wrinkled landscape.

"One minute."

"4-2, we're taking heavy fire; repeat, target is marked. Appreciate a quick elimination."

Our boys definitely found somebody nested near a cave, who had them pinned down on the mountainside.

I rose up to leap the top of the ridge separating us. "3-9, we should have visual in 3, 2, 1…"

And there was the squad below, hunkered down on a small shelf across the gorge we just entered. Our scopes lit up with the laser marker to the right, higher up the same side of the gorge, muzzle flashes of automatic weapons confirming the target location.

"Hellfire one and two, armed and ready. Lock, on. Hellfire one away. Hellfire two away."

Hellfire missiles were 5 feet and 100 pounds of concentrated whoop-ass, and we were fortunate to be outfitted with a dozen of these little bug-bombs, and the laser guidance system put them right on target, turning the nest, and everyone in it, into a cloud of rock and dust.

I swung around and eased down to the shelf where Alpha squad was hoisting themselves over to where I touched down. The four of them looked pretty banged up, and our medic jumped out to help a couple of them who were holding bloody bandages to an arm or leg.

"Thanks for the lift, Captain."

"No problem," I replied, "we live to serve. Where's Bravo at?" Squad Ranger 39 had two fire teams, Alpha and Bravo, and I wasn't leaving without the whole squad.

"We split up coming over the ridge. They're about two clicks southwest, and they got hit harder than us."

"OK, time is money, gents. Let's go, let's go."

The medic got the wounds prepped for travel, and once all were strapped in, I took us up and away to find Bravo team.

"There they are, 2 o'clock," said my co-pilot, Lt Charles 'Chuck' Brown, as we rounded yet another rocky crag. "There's not much room there."

As we closed the distance, I could see that they were even bloodier than Alpha team; probably targeted first.

I radioed my crew chief, "Wiley, ropes out, send down the medic and one healthy Alpha, then the stretcher."

"On it, Jimmy."

I swung around parallel with the mountainside on my left and the ropes went down, and the crew quick-dropped immediately after. As we hovered above Bravo position, the first guy up on the stretcher had been leading and received multiple rounds in the torso and lower extremities; body armor had saved his life but he had a long recovery before him.

It was then that all hell broke loose.

The cockpit came alive in a hail of small arms fire, broken glass and shrapnel, screams and yelling, not the least was my own.

"Enemy fire, 3 o'clock! Bravo, can you mark 'em?"

Someone down below was already returning fire across the narrow gorge, presumably to another group of bandits waiting in ambush for us to show up. I prayed silently that they still had their laser operational.

"Affirmative, 4-2! On it!"

"Need it yesterday, Bravo!" I swung the Black Hawk around to face the bastards. "Hellfire one and two, armed and ready."

"Target marked!" I heard, just as my scope locked on.

"One away! Two away!"

But the rounds had not stopped coming, and I felt a hot kick to my knee, followed by excruciating pain, just as the missiles blew apart the mountainside in front of me.

"I'm hit! Chuck –" but as I looked over at my co-pilot, he was bent over, bloody hand to his face.

"Shrapnel," he moaned, "damn near ripped my face off, Jimmy, can't see!"

Crap. Pilots down. The helo was in a slow spin, dangerously close to the side of the gorge now.

I grit my teeth and forced my left leg to work the pedal. Miraculously, it responded and I righted the Black Hawk, just as more rounds started pinging us from further up the gorge.

I lowered the helo as close as I dared to the ledge sheltering the rest of the squad.

"Jump in! Move, move, move!"

They didn't need telling twice, as they threw everything they were carrying on board and scrambled across the gap, dragging the wounded ones roughly through the impromptu chain of hands.

"That's all, Jimmy!" my crew chief finally said. "Move out!"

"Hold on!" I yelled as I dove down into the gorge and out of range as quickly as possible.

My knee protested the maneuver, but we seemed to be in the clear for the ride back to base and medical attention. Fate, however, had other plans.

"Jimmy," called my crew chief again, " it's raining fuel back here."

The fuel gauge apparently still worked, as I could see the level dropping steadily. Our overhead fuel tanks had been pierced in the firefight and we would be dry in just a few minutes.

"Wiley, how far to that last ridge before the valley road?" There was no safe landing spot in this region and I'd be damned before I let my guys be taken by these bastards; they'd be better off dead.

"Ten minutes at current speed," my crew chief responded. "Fuel won't last that long."

At current speed, he said. That gave me an idea, something I'd read about – some Navy jet pilot in Nam was hit, losing fuel somewhere over enemy territory, and burned it up as fast as he could to get as high as he could.

"Not a problem," I replied, "we're heading for the ceiling."

I immediately pulled back into a power climb, shooting out of the gorge and setting a course perpendicular to the high ridge that we had to cross to be out of the insurgents' playground, pushing the engines as hard as I could to use every drop of precious fuel still in the tanks while it was still available.

"Thunder Base, this is Dragon 4-2, damaged during enemy engagement, losing fuel rapidly, aiming to set down on the north valley road. Crew taken fire, casualties critical. Request two MEDEVACs rendezvous at landing site."

"Dragon 4-2, Thunder Base acknowledged. MEDEVACs in route ASAP."

Higher and higher we climbed, a beautifully harsh land unfolding below, with little indication of the human conflict raging within.

Then a cough by one of the engines, and I knew fuel was about gone, the gauge near zero for the last half minute. I leveled out and shut the engines off.

It became eerily quiet except for the wind as I tilted down and adjusted the rotors into auto-rotation position.

"Captain, you know how to fly this bird without power?"

Alpha squad was getting a bit nervous.

"Affirmative, just treat her right, and she'll glide right back down to earth."

"With no wings?"

"The blades are like long, narrow wings, as long as they keep rotating. We won't win any distance championships, but we'll get there just fine."

"What about that ridge coming up fast?"

Yes, the ridge was coming up very fast, and I was having to hold back nearly into a stall to eek out every last bit of altitude, aiming for the lowest point in our path.

Even then, it was an extremely close passage, raising dust as we sailed over the gap, rocky peaks rising to either side.

"Jimmy, you're either planting us on a mountainside or giving us a heart attack."

"Not today, Wiley! Sit back and enjoy the rest of your flight. We thank you for flying Dragon Air."

Finally, the valley floor ribboned below us, and I adjusted the rotors into a more comfortable descent. I radioed our location as we followed the road, lower and lower, until I pulled back into a classic flare maneuver a few feet off the road surface, bleeding off speed, and dropped lightly to the ground.

"Nice job, Jimmy, I'm sending the medic up front."

"Thanks, Wiley. Tell him to see Chuck first." My co-pilot seemed barely conscious at this point.

We sat there on the road, banged up and in pain, but laughing at the insanity we had just survived, and several comments about "crazy rotorheads."

A British humvee was the first vehicle that came down the road. It stopped before us and a tall man got out of the back, approaching my side of the Black Hawk at a determined pace. He walked up to the open doorway, raised his right arm toward me, holding a stick.

He removed his hat, exposing a completely bald scalp, and I noticed with horror that he had no nose and red slits for eyes.

"Goodbye, Harry Potter," he hissed. " _Avada Kedavra._ "

A jet of green light slammed into my chest, and I knew no more.

o o o

3.03

0420 THURSDAY LITTLE WHINGING SURREY

Panting, sweating, chest compressed, hard to get breath, gut roiling, and a familiar stabbing pain in my knee. _What the hell ..?_

I could move my right arm easily enough, and I groped for something, anything familiar.

I was facing a cool flat surface and gravity told me down was to my left. Reaching behind, I discovered some type fabric that was also wrapped around my legs, and a horizontal surface that was more yielding…

I exhaled a deep sigh and chuckled to myself. I had rolled out of bed and was trapped between it and the wall. Thank the angels that no one here on Earth could see me; they're probably laughing themselves silly up there about now.

I shoved the bed back far enough where I could free my aching body and re-situate myself properly under the thin blanket. I thought about the dream – my last mission in Afghanistan was a frequent visitor to my visions at night, but Tom had never made an appearance before. Of course, he had never been more substantial than a comic book villain before either. Once freed from the wall, my chest returned to normal, and the pain in my knee was also receding. Some of it was probably phantom recall of the pain from the actual injury but I apparently landed on my knee when I fell off the bed, adding a bit more realism to my dream.

I was pondering the irony of it all when a crack resounded in the middle of the room. My wand found itself in my hand before I recognized that Kreacher stood before me, a shiny object glinting from between his bony fingers.

"Kreacher found Master's locket in nasty witch's bedroom," he sneered, dangling it from its chain.

This was going to be a story I probably wanted as little detail as possible.

o o o

3.04

1030 THURSDAY HOGWARTS CASTLE

After listening to Kreacher's harrowing tale, I sent Hedwig off to Bill Weasley, stating that I had "collected all the fruit for the basket" and wondered if he wanted to share. Cleverly enough coded, I hoped, but easily figured out. Hedwig returned just a few hours later, after I had a chance to get a little more sleep.

"Nicely done," Bill wrote. "We'll have a picnic at school with your fruit basket and your knife, as soon as you can make it."

Ha! Bring Tom's trinkets and the Sword of Gryffindor to Hogwarts. Got it.

I called for Dobby and got a report on his surveillance, then he took me to the great hall at Hogwarts, where I found Bill, Ginny, Ron, Hermione, and Deputy Headmistress (now Headmistress) McGonagall waiting for me. The circle kept growing, but I planned on it not being an issue for not much longer.

"Quite a party for the picnic, I see," I intoned. "Not sure if I've got enough fruit to go around." I greeted McGonagall warmly, since I hadn't seen her since leaving on the Express a few weeks ago.

Ginny sidled over for a hug and a chaste kiss. "Don't get your knickers in a twist, Harry. Bill has found a possible solution to your, erm… fruit problem."

"No need to be coy around me, Miss Weasley," huffed McGonagall. "Mr. Potter – Harry," she corrected at my frown, "Bill has given me a synopsis of what has transpired and I must say that I am shocked – at what You-Know-Who has done to himself, at what Albus has required of you, and that you have managed to accomplish the impossible time and again, despite what little assistance I have been to you over the years. I do not wish to fail you again; therefore, I put myself and Hogwarts at your disposal, for whatever you require."

Stunned by her speech, I could only nod and murmur an appreciative thanks.

"Harry," said Bill, "I have been researching ways to eliminate the taint upon these historic founder's relics without destroying the objects themselves. Oddly enough, the answer was here at Hogwarts the entire time. In the Headmaster's private library there is a book of holy purification rituals, and one of these rituals seems well suited to our task. It requires multiple objects to be purified at the same time, and a magical focus item that has been tempered through a trial of great conflict against evil. Since you defeated Slytherin's basilisk while it was under You-Know-Who's direction, we feel that the Sword of Gryffindor, as the weapon causing its death, will qualify as that magical focus item."

"Really?" I asked, amazed. "That would be awesome if it worked. What do we have to do?"

"First, we need to go to a more appropriate location."

Bill then led us down the entrance hall steps one level but then turned away from the dungeons into a corridor I had somehow missed before. The walls became very different, the stone was rougher cut and more worn at the same time. We stopped before a pair of doors of hand-hewn wood, that he opened into a dark room, which suddenly became visible as McGonagall swept her arm around the room, lighting torches along both of the longer walls.

I walked to the center and gaped at what looked to be a very old church.

"Welcome to the chapel," said the Headmistress. "The oldest part of Hogwarts, predates the rest of the castle by hundreds of years."

"Amazing," I said. "How did it get here?"

"It is thought to be a house of worship built by the Picts after they converted to Christianity, early in the first millennium. Before that, it was rumored to be a site for sacrificial rites."

Bill added, "The natural magic of the area always attracted people here. The founders were allowed to build the castle only after promising to maintain the chapel for all time, so it became part of the castle itself."

Sacrifices, worship, no doubt many sacraments, all these things had happened here, and a place of powerful natural magic. There was probably no place better suited for a magical ritual of holy purification.

"Alright. This looks good. How confident are we that this will be successful?"

Bill shrugged. "About as confident as one can be in written spells that haven't been seen in centuries and have no corroborating texts known to exist."

"But you said the arithmancy worked well, didn't you?" fretted Hermione, who had been strangely quiet.

"Yes, it all checks out fine," Bill said, "but it's not something we can actually practice."

I looked at Ginny, her bright eyes showing concern, but also encouragement.

I turned back to Bill. "Let's do it."

He directed me to place each of the relics on a raised dais that could have held an altar at some point, arranging them in a triangle about a foot apart – Ravenclaw's diadem at the apex, Slytherin's locket and Hufflepuff's cup flanking – and to hold Gryffindor's Sword pointing toward the three.

Four founders, four priceless relics, that were about to be unified once again. I felt a shiver run through my body and noticed that we had an audience.

The house ghosts – the Grey Lady, the Bloody Baron, the Fat Friar, and Nearly Headless Nick – had all come to bear witness to the ritual. A heavy weight seemed to settle on each of us.

Bill taught me the words to say, but as always, "Intent is important. You must really want the taint removed from these objects."

I nodded, and everyone stepped back. I began the chant, pointing the sword at each relic in turn, until a golden glow began forming at the tip of the sword.

And the next moment I realized that Fate must really have it out for me, because for the second time that morning I experienced an overwhelming magical attack, this time a ferocious golden blast right above the eyes.

o

3.b

 **A/N 2:** Yes, I really do remember where and when that I heard about Princess Diana's death. Some things have that kind of overwhelming impact. And what I said about Kings Cross was exactly the way it was a decade ago; no idea what they've done in the latest remodel.

As for the Afghanistan scene, I researched a fair bit but I knew I could only pay lip service to it without help from people who actually know what those situations were like, so if there are any real soldiers out there that would care to PM me to improve that scene, I would be very appreciative. It has been the biggest hurdle since I first conceived this fic many years ago.

Thanks for reading!

o


	4. Founders Cross

**4\. Founders Cross**

o o o

4.01

NO DATA. UNKNOWN

I was aware of nothing at first – a vast eternal emptiness – that evolved into a feeling that there was indeed something around me – a white fog, perhaps, but without the damp coolness of normal fog – as if it was waiting to become something else – the fog of infinite possibility. I assumed I was lying horizontally. There was just enough visibility to perceive a curving crystal ceiling high above me. I rose and saw myself – that I needed clothing – and suddenly I was wearing a pale shimmering jogging suit. I probably should be careful about what I think about, realizing that it could instantly appear.

Even though it was expected, the whimpering, thumping noise sounded so plaintive that I had to look closer at the small flailing bundle that had appeared on the floor, next to what looked like a glass wall –no, a railing. I had to pull myself away, knowing what it was, fighting the urge to help, or retch.

"There's nothing you can do for it, I'm afraid, Harry." The real Albus Dumbledore was just as I expected, twinkling eyes and all.

My thoughts were a little slow catching up, and as my awareness grew, I began to panic. "Professor, I'm not supposed to be here yet, am I? Have I ruined everything?"

"Relax, Harry. You have no need to be concerned. And it's good to see you, too."

"Of course, sir, I'm sorry. It's great to see you again, altogether whole and all… your hand, it's healed!"

"Why, so it is," he mused, holding his hand out, inspecting it. "I suppose I should thank you for that, because you are responsible for my physical appearance in this place."

"I am?"

"Yes, Harry, this is your party, so to speak, and where I am currently does not have the same restrictions on the body's physical form that I had in my previous life. Now, we may be limited in our time together, so I believe something had you quite troubled?"

I shook my head, filing all this away to ponder later. "It's just… I thought that I had to be killed by Voldemort's hand, or… I don't know… something wouldn't work out properly."

"You read the seventh book, Harry?"

"Yes… Wait, you already know about the book?"

"Of course. I hope I get to read it myself someday. I see quite bit of the mortal world – my usual view is actually quite nice – but, my word, this space is quite magnificent. Where are we exactly?"

I shuffled my feet. "In the book, my mind created a nicer version of Kings Cross station. I guess I wanted to see what would happen… You know that I had that other life, and the last time I came through London I was in this place. It's the new passenger terminal 5 at Heathrow, at least it will be in another decade."

"Amazing! It certainly seems large enough for airplanes in here…"

I laughed. "Yes, it does, but this is just for people. The planes park outside. There's supposed to be ticket kiosks and baggage check stations…" I gave him a brief overview of what I could remember since it fascinated him almost as much as it would Mr. Weasley, who loved Muggle technology with the passion (and naiveté) of a child.

"Sir, what happens now? Do I wake up in 2007 as James Whittle with a bad headache and vague memories of this incredible dream of being Harry Potter? Or do I go back to where I just was, and what happens to the protection that everyone was supposed to have? Voldemort was supposed to try to kill me –"

Dumbledore interrupted my verbal diarrhea. "Harry, what did the book say about your thoughts as you approached Voldemort in the forest?"

"I knew I was… about to die. It seemed so… final."

"And what did I say to you after you discovered that you had not died after all?"

"That I had _intended_ to die, and that's what did it."

"Yes! If you were to face Voldemort today and stand defenseless as he cursed you, would you expect to die?"

I was beginning to understand. "No – the intention would be missing. So, if I know he can't kill me, then I cannot make a true sacrifice, and the protective charm won't be duplicated." Frustrated, I leaned my head back and dragged a hand through my hair. "And I have no idea what to do now."

"What do you suppose would have happened had there been no protective charm in the story?"

"Voldemort would have been in full control with his spell power intact, and we may never have been able to force the final showdown. Many more would have died."

"Are you expecting a similar situation now?"

"No, I don't want to endanger anyone… Oh, you're saying that the charm is not necessary?"

His eyes were twinkling again. "There are many ways to ensure safety for others, Harry."

I smiled back. "Such as eliminating the threat entirely."

o o o

4.02

1120 THURSDAY HOGWARTS CASTLE

It was some time later – by my reckoning anyway – when I felt as if I had a real body again, a body that felt the pain of having been body-slammed to a stone floor. I groaned as I stretched my arms out, trying to decide if anything was broken.

Ginny was at my side. "Harry?"

Then Hermione was there. "Oh, Harry! Are you alright? Bill, was that supposed to happen?"

Bill was trying to see through the girls. "No, I didn't think so; I'm not sure what that was."

Ginny reached for my hand. "Is it gone?"

"Yup," I grinned. "Dumbledore confirmed it."

"Oh, thank God!" she cried in relief, and fell upon me like she was trying to hug the stuffing out of me.

"Dumbledore?" Hermione said, confused. "What are you – Oh!" she suddenly gasped, brushing my forehead with her fingertips.

I could hear similar exclamations from the others still standing.

"Blimey, Harry," said Bill, " you never do anything by halves, do you?"

"What are you all on about?" I said.

McGonagall conjured a mirror and held it before me, and there on my forehead, my famous scar from Tom's attack so long ago was no longer a lightning bolt. _How did this happen?_

"Look – on the dias, Harry!" Hermione urged.

I stared at the founders' relics that sat where I had placed them, except Gryffindor's sword had fallen so that the pommel rested just below Ravenclaw's diadem, and the cross guard of the hilt was perfectly aligned with Hufflepuff's cup on one side, Slytherin's locket on the other, and the blade was down, pointing toward us. In essence, it formed a beautiful crowned cross with all three freshly purified founders' relics on the points – a Founders Cross – and that same image was now outlined on my forehead.

"How…? I don't –"

"Shh, Harry," soothed Ginny as she pulled my head back into her lap, running her fingers through my hair and caressing my forehead, and a dull pain that had been there for as long as I could remember finally started to ease away. "The way I see it, you did this rite of purification in a Holy Place, and the evil that Tom marked you with all those years ago was forced out of you, and he no longer has any claim on you, because you've been claimed by another, higher power."

"The cross?"

"I think it's a symbol of that claiming, yes."

"But my relatives hardly ever took me to church, and I don't think I'm good enough for –"

"Harry, God loves us, not because of who we are, but because that's who God is."

I gazed into her eyes, glistening with love and compassion, and I felt like heavy chains were slipping off me into nothingness, and another feeling overcame me – strange, light and breathy – and I could only call it freedom.

I wept.

o o o

4.03

1200 THURSDAY HOGWARTS CASTLE

Lunch in the Great Hall was a very unusual atmosphere – light banter and joking had replaced the somber faces and dark moods during the last meal I had eaten here. And there was something else, an awareness of the proximity of success and victory – a joy welling up from hope, things that had been missing for several years now.

"We used to go to church in the village," Bill was telling the others, "until one day the vicar was preaching about the apostles arguing over which among them was greatest, and suddenly there was this kerfuffle in the congregation – people murmuring, even crying out. I looked up at the stained glass windows, and the figures of those same apostles were brawling, just as in the vicar's story. Mum was having kittens that the twins had broken the Statute of Secrecy, but we later discovered it was Ron's accidental magic – he was only about 5 at the time and just wanted to watch it acted out. Dad couldn't decide whether to be furious or proud, but the obliviators from the ministry 'suggested' we worship at home in future."

Ron chuckled sheepishly while everyone else was in stitches. Hermione was trying to control herself by laughing into Ron's shoulder.

Ginny must have noticed my mind wandering. "You OK?" she asked, leaning in.

"Yeah, this is all great, but I'm still worried, to the point where Tom attacked me in my dreams last night. In my other life, one thing we couldn't figure out was what kept Harry – me – from dying in the Forbidden Forest that night. Was it because I had one of Tom's soul pieces to die in my stead, or was it my blood in Tom's veins that acted as a soul anchor for me? I no longer have the soul piece, so I may not have that protection, and I can't risk another killing curse; I may not survive this time."

"Harry, there is an easy solution to that."

"Yeah?" I asked, hopeful.

"Don't get hit, silly."

I laughed.

o o o

4.04

2200 THURSDAY LITTLE WHINGING SURREY

"Dobby, I gotta say, this is totally awesome."

It was like watching a projected pensieve memory, floating in front of us as we sat in my bedroom, the one which used to be Dudley's second room, and still had some of his broken discarded toys in the corners.

"Dobby thanks the Great Harry Potter," he said excitedly, "Dobby was very careful, too, never to be seen."

"Excellent job, buddy. Now that we can see him in his own room, your surveillance shows that he will not be going out again, that's the pattern? No one ever bothers him after dinner?"

"This is true, master Harry Potter."

I checked the time on the desk clock. "Then it's time to commence Operation Ferret."

I slipped my invisibility cloak over the both of us, and with a crack we disappeared.

o o o

4.05

2205 THURSDAY WILTSHIRE

We reappeared in a huge bedroom – really a suite – that featured a large four-poster bed at one end and a lounge area at the other, situated in front of a bay window. That was all I had time to process because the blond guy sitting there had jumped to his feet, waving his wand wildly in my general direction.

" _Expelliarmus`!"_ I yelled from under the cloak, and I snatched the wand flying towards me as I whipped the cloak off. Dobby had already disillusioned himself.

"Potter?! What the hell are you doing here? _How_ did you get in here?"

"Hello, Draco," I returned, inspecting my prize. "Nice wand. Hawthorn, isn't it? What's the core now?"

"Why should you care?" he cried. "Are you _mad?_ And you didn't answer me – have you come here to finish the job you started a few weeks ago?"

Unbidden images of the Malfoy heir nearly bleeding out in a Hogwarts bathroom almost caused me to lose my composure, but I soldiered on.

"Draco, Draco," I mocked, "as much as I dislike you, I have come to realize that you might actually be _useful_ for something. Rumor has it that your family is less than pleased at the treatment you have received from your most notorious guest."

A horrified expression was quickly replaced with stiff indignance. "Have you no sense of subtlety or decorum at all?"

I shrugged. "What can I say? It's a gift."

He snorted. "You know nothing."

"So I suppose our lost Muggle Studies professor wasn't _hanging around_ here before she was _swallowed up_ into the darkness?"

Draco paled, obviously haunted by witnessing Charity Burbage's death in their own dining room and having to watch Tom's snake enjoy a human-size snack.

I leaned in closer, sneering, "And I also suppose your father just _misplaced_ his wand, then? How on Earth will he be a useful servant without the proper tools? Hmm... Well, I suppose robe hem-kissing doesn't require any magic after all…"

" _Why are you here?"_ Draco seethed. "What do you _want?"_

"I'm just here to chat, Draco. Sit down," I said, indicating the plush settee that he seemed to prefer. "I'm going to tell you a story."

"A story? You _are_ mad…" he grumbled, reluctantly returning to his seat.

I sat in a high-backed chair facing him. "Once upon a time there was a girl named Merope, barely of age and barely a witch, youngest of the Gaunt family – I'm sure you've heard of them – proud of their heritage but hardly model citizens – too many marriages between cousins apparently, barely scraping out a living in a dirty hovel – father, son and daughter. With me so far?"

He nodded with a scowl.

"Young Merope developed an infatuation with a local Muggle boy who was handsome and wealthy, and through use of illegal magic, probably a love potion, forced him to marry and impregnate her. She then stopped the potion or whatever it was, and the Muggle boy left her, disgusted with what she had forced him to do. Merope then fell into a despair so deep that by the time she gave birth in a Muggle orphanage, she was knutless and barely alive. In fact, her dying words were to name her son Tom Marvolo Riddle, Tom Riddle after the father that ran away, and Marvolo after her own father.

"Tom grew up in that same orphanage, but he didn't like his situation. He dealt with it by exerting his will over others; he enjoyed bullying – even torturing – the younger and weaker children. Since he was magical, at eleven he came to Hogwarts and was sorted into Slytherin. Tom quickly learned that different techniques would be needed to succeed in a school full of wizards. Extremely gifted in both magic and intelligence, he became a model student, excelling in his studies and exceeding the teachers' expectations, earning prefect and eventual Head Boy. These privileges gave him the freedom to follow his own secret agenda, which included terrorizing the school, murder of a fellow student and framing another for it, and teaching himself the darkest of magics. He sought out his family and was rebuffed by the Riddles once he found them, so he murdered them all – his father and grandparents – and framed his wizard uncle for the deed, sending him to Azkaban for his the rest of his life. His Muggle heritage was buried and gone. To convince others that he had a noble background, he invented a new name that was merely an anagram of the one he was born with.

"So you see, Draco, Tom was a true Slytherin, full of ambition, and his ends justified any means. His greatest desire was power – powerful magic, power to draw people to him and bend them to his will, and the power to torture them when he was displeased with them."

Draco's eyes widened in comprehension.

"Yes, Draco, this pretender is the same Dark Lord that you and your father have sworn allegiance to, that has tried and failed to best me on seven different occasions, and that I intend to destroy.

"I have come here to give you an opportunity, Draco, not because I like you, but because I know what you have had to deal with. Remember that second broom with Dumbledore's on the tower that night? That was mine. I was there, Draco, and the only reason I wasn't cursing you was because Dumbledore's last spell was to petrify me there. But I saw, and I learned."

He scowled, saying, "Why would I be interested in anything _you_ had to offer?"

"Because," I said, "I have a way out for you and your mother. She was a Black, and I feel some kind of responsibility for her since I will be rising to the position of Lord Black soon."

I tossed a packet on the coffee table while he stared at me in astonishment.

"Passports," I announced, "and vouchers for Muggle airline flights, to anywhere you and your mother want to go. I recommend Canada, the States, or Australia since the language and culture are similar. You can give yourselves any name you want on the passports – disappear from Britain – if I don't defeat Tom next time we meet. If I win, then you have no need of this stuff; toss it in a fire."

"And you are giving us these documents out of the goodness of your heart, I suppose?"

"No, Draco," I grinned slyly. "I may not be a Slytherin, but only because I asked the Sorting Hat. No, I need information."

o

4.a

 **A/N:** Before any sticklers-for-detail call me on it, I am aware that Terminal 5 did not open until 2008, but I hope you will indulge me on this slight inconsistency, because I was mightily impressed when I first saw it and I am sure that Jimmy would have been as well, so I wanted to include it in the story.


	5. Parry & Thrust

5.a

 **A/N:** Although this chapter includes the much-anticipated prophesied confrontation, it marks only the halfway point in this fic. I apologize that RL kept me from getting it out to you sooner. Updated as of 30 Sep, 2017.

On 1 September, I greeted folks everywhere with "Happy Epilogue Day" and most of them just stared back, having no clue to what I was referring – that an era had just had its final moment and gone quietly back onto the library shelves, and hardly anyone gave a flying snitch. Even JKR got the date wrong. Snape was right about one thing, they're all dunderheads.

* * *

 **5\. Parry and Thrust**

o o o

5.01

1030 FRIDAY OTTERY ST CATCHPOLE DEVON

"So you told me you fought in a war, but what was Jimmy like when he was our age?"

We were lounging against the same large oak at the Burrow, Ginny's back leaning against my chest, so that I could run my fingers through her soft and beautifully colored hair – "red" was a wholly inadequate term for the multitudes of shades I saw there – and again the flowery scent took me to a place where things in the past were no longer very important.

"I'm not sure you would have liked me very much back then. I would drive fast and I would party with my friends, which was an extremely bad combination. That night was like that, a few drinks, have a little fun on the way home, but a tree apparently jumped in my way…"

"A tree? Jumped, you say?" she giggled.

"Well, I later tried to convince myself that's what happened. I was in denial about my situation, I think, but I believe I also suffered enough head trauma that it caused some amnesia. Lots of my youth was no longer clear to me. However, it did inspire me to get more serious about life, and that's when I started listening to my dad about joining the army when I got out of school. It was tough, but I became a better person for it. After I was injured I couldn't fly anymore, so I got a medical discharge and went into youth counseling. I tried help a lot of these kids who were wild like I had been to see where they might end up."

"So Jimmy had his own 'saving people thing' too?"

"I suppose he did," I laughed. "I did enjoy reading the Harry Potter novels as they came out; as Jimmy I felt a sort of kinship with him. I lost my mom due to cancer when I was too small to remember her, and joining the army was like another world where I felt I finally belonged someplace, just like I did when I was Harry joining the magical world."

Trying to stay under the radar of Dumbledore's Order members, I couldn't stay very long, yet we sat there all morning, luxuriating in each other's presence. She was a balm for the nervousness trying to gnaw at me and I almost forgot about the task I had to perform the next evening. It couldn't be avoided forever though.

"Have you decided which wand you will use?" she asked, once again running her hands through _my_ hair as I lay my head in her lap, which was quickly becoming my favorite place to be, bar none.

"I think you, I, and Grindelwald are the only living beings who know about the Elder Wand, so the best place for it is to remain with Dumbledore and maybe no one else will ever figure that one out. According to the book, I use Malfoy's wand against Tom when he has the Elder Wand, but Tom will be using Lucius' wand tomorrow. Assuming it works the same way, that confrontation is _very_ dramatic, and my wand almost beats him then and there without any help from me. It's a proven winner, so I believe that's how I'll proceed. I have to make sure I defeat Lucius before I confront Tom, to give me the best advantage possible. I may win that wand's allegiance as well."

"Stacking the deck, are you, Mr. Potter?"

"Of course! I'd be stupid not to."

o o o

5.02

1900 SATURDAY WILTSHIRE

"Hello, again, Draco," I purred as Dobby invisibly transported me for the second time directly into his suite at Malfoy Manor.

"Will you stop _doing_ that?" he said irritably after jumping in the air a foot, maybe two. Irritating the ponce is always fun. "And _how_ are you doing that?"

"Ah, but that information is strictly need-to-know, and you don't need to know. I do thank you for the courtesy of allowing me to enter your lovely home this way. As soon as my job here is finished, we go our separate ways and you get on with your personal life. As agreed, I will do what I can to keep you and your mum out of Azkaban. No promises on Daddy Dearest. He's hurt too many people, especially those close to me."

"Whatever," he grumbled. "I still think you're totally insane, and mum thinks so too. But she wanted me to tell you that your gesture is appreciated regardless."

I nodded in return.

"So go attempt whatever it is you think you can do, and then get the hell out of my house."

"Such confidence is reassuring, Draco, and I plan on doing exactly what you propose. Goodbye, old bean."

I bowed myself out of the door and into a well-decorated hallway lined in portraits. It amazes me how some people live. I knew from Draco's intelligence that only the Malfoys and their prisoner in the basement would be here at the manor after the attack team left for Surrey, where they would be waiting to descend upon the unsuspecting Order members and recruits who would be trying to protect me. I felt I was doing better at their job by taking care of the problem on this end.

First order of business: Nagini. Tom's large snake also held one of Tom's soul fragments and therefore had to be eliminated. She was still here in the mansion, for Tom would not send her to Godric's Hollow with whatever horrors he would inflict on Bathilda Bagshot until after I escape from Bill and Fleur's wedding. I slipped on the invisibility cloak, asked Dobby for the stealth charms, and instantly felt the wash of magic that would give me complete masking of sound, heat and odor.

According to Dobby's scrying model, Tom's pet familiar preferred a room near the kitchen when his master was away, so I made my way to that location – down another hall, then quietly down a wide staircase into the entry hall. I passed Lucius' large drawing room – damn, that's a fancy chandelier, shame I don't get to see it busted this time – waving at him by the fireplace as I passed, not that he could see me, of course. _I'll be back for you shortly,_ I thought to myself.

Luck was with me as approached the target room, for the door was open, but it was dark inside. I slowly pulled the goblin-crafted Sword of Gryffindor from its sheath and stepped forward.

The floor creaked.

And in that moment, the glint off a pair of deadly fangs was flying through the air, almost directly at my mid-section. I barely had time to raise the sword to block Nagini's attack and knock her head to the side, nicking it in the process. At this point, the damage was done and Nagini would die, but not immediately. She was angry now, and she could care less about Tom's order not to kill me, since she still hadn't actually seen me to know my identity.

I stepped back as she coiled quickly and struck again, somehow sensing where I was.

This time I was ready, though, and I put my best Neville move on her, slicing upward with all I had as she lunged, and her head went tumbling over my shoulder as the long body slapped messily onto the floor.

After only three seconds of pure terror and adrenaline, I was already shaking. I took several long, deep draws of air as I surveyed the creature at my feet. Dark, deadly, and beautiful – and another victim of Tom's evil on this Earth. I cursed him under my breath.

With renewed vigor, I strode back the way I came, slipping undetected into the drawing room, right beside the senior ponce himself.

Throwing off the invisibility cloak with a flourish, I whipped the sword around to rest just under his chin. He threw himself to the back of his chair as Nagini's fresh blood dripped onto his expensive silk robes.

"Potter!" he hissed, once he tore his eyes my way from the bloody blade at his neck.

"Yes, Lucius, so good to see you once more. As you can see, I've already killed two snakes with this particular blade, would you care to make it three?"

"You have made a grave mistake coming here," he growled. "The Dark Lord will be here before –"

"Ah, but that's exactly what I want, Lucy! Yes, I've some business with old Tom, you see, so you just go ahead and call him. Maybe he'll reward you by _not_ cursing you tonight, wouldn't that be nice?"

Malfoy scowled, confused. "You actually desire me to call him?"

"That's right, go ahead. Easy and slow there – my sword hand is a little twitchy tonight. And did I mention one of those snakes was the basilisk that you helped loose in Hogwarts?" I lowered my voice and added a hard edge. "Its venom makes this blade even more deadly. Just give me a reason, Lucy, and I _will_ end you."

His eyes widened, and I detected a twitch in his left cheek. "You don't have it in you, boy."

"You'd be surprised, Lucy. I'm not the same guy who felt sorry for ripping open Draco's chest a few weeks ago. Call your boss, and be quick about it."

He still appeared unsure.

"Look at this way – think what he'll do to you if he finds out I was here and you _didn't_ call him."

Apparently that got him riled – or scared – enough to grudgingly press his long manicured finger to the fancy snake tattoo on his left arm.

"It is done," he said. "Prepare to be destroyed."

" _Stupefy,_ " I cast, before he could make any other stupid cliched remark. He instead slumped sideways in the chair. _"Accio wand,"_ I tried with no response. Then I remembered, Lucius was so out of favor that Tom couldn't be bothered to help him replace his wand, even though they had Britain's premier wand crafter just below us.

I switched the sword to my off hand and readied my holly and phoenix feather wand. It shouldn't be a long wait.

"Ready, Dobby? I want the full set of enchantments as soon as Tom arrives."

"Dobby is ready, Harry Potter, sir! Dobby knows Harry Potter will win!"

"I hope you're right, Dobby," I muttered, "I hope you're right."

I strolled over to the fireplace and tried to adopt a cool, confidant stance to throw him off guard – something that might work in Hollywood, but probably has no effect whatsoever on demented real-world dark wizards. At least I could focus on something for the moment that didn't involve killing another being.

I was still debating how to hold the sword when a crack rang out in the hall and the infamous target of Trelawney's prophecy of 1980 strolled into the drawing room.

He took in the sight of me standing beyond the crumpled form of Lucius and shook his head in disgust.

"Harry Potter," he hissed, "here in the flesh. How very odd that my Death Eaters are gathered even now to bring you to me."

"Hello, Tom. You should have said something – I could have saved you the trouble."

I felt a tingle wash through my entire body as Dobby raised enchantments for privacy, anti-apparition, anti-portkey and other security measures.

He looked quickly around, waving his wand this way and that. "Elf magic? You have us both trapped here together, boy. Your apparent wish to die without an audience is about to be granted."

"Ah, but I wouldn't be too hasty on that assumption, Tom. I've always heard that you were a pretty smart guy, but there's a lot that's happened, and many things you simply don't understand."

He chuckled in a rasping sort of way. "You seem very assured of yourself. What can you possibly know that will make any difference to me?"

"Here's one: _'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…'_

"So," I continued, "if Snape had heard the entire thing and relayed it to you, would you still have attacked me? After all, your actions set the prophecy in motion."

"Whether that is true or not is no longer relevant, Potter, for I have taken steps to insure –"

"Yeah, yeah, you've done all this really dark magic to prevent your demise, Mr. Flight-from-Death. The problem is, Tom, that you left quite a few of your trinkets lying around in places where they could be found. Lucy here, for example, gave your little diary to a first year Hogwarts student. Funny how Dumbledore had always wondered exactly what you'd done, but that was the key to your undoing."

"Dumbledore is dead!"

"Yes, your curse on the ring was a nasty one, but Dumbledore and the one you thought was yours colluded to bring about his death as he wanted. You, on the other hand, feared death so much, but you had no respect for life either. You took the greatest gift you had been given, your very soul, and chopped it up like mundane potion ingredients. Since you cared so little for life, what little you have left is about to be taken away, unless you can demonstrate that you still have a shred of humanity left inside you."

"You talk nonsense, insolent boy," he seethed, red eyes slitted malevolently. "Despite these conspiracy theories, you cannot possibly have discovered them all. Until then, I cannot die!"

He was very sure of himself for someone who had not put any alarms on his hiding places.

"The diary, the diadem at Hogwarts, the ring in your family's shack, the locket in the cave, the cup in Lestranges' vault, and your pet snake just down the hall – all eliminated." I held up the sword. "At least for Nagini, I made it quick."

"You _dare_ ," he hissed, those weird nostril slits of his flaring, and I knew he was losing it. He flashed his wand up at me and the moment had arrived.

" _Avada Kedavra!_ "

" _Expelliarmus!_ "

My wand flashed back at his, and just like they were supposed to, our spells collided with a tremendous _bang_ between us. We must have been further apart during the confrontation in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, because I almost didn't catch Lucius' wand when it came flying back at me. Tom was of course hit by his own rebounding curse and tumbled backwards to the floor.

I sighed in relief, trying to calm my racing heart. I had done it.

"Damn," I muttered, "I didn't get to ask him to try some remorse." It was understood that the redemption offer had to be made, even if he would almost certainly reject it.

" _Accio wands,_ " I intoned, and I nabbed his original yew and phoenix feather wand out of the air – the brother wand to mine, and a potential source of fascination to anyone wanting to follow in his footsteps. I tossed it onto the floor and brought the Sword of Gryffindor down, slicing Tom's wand neatly in two.

I picked up the two halves, wondering how to dispose of them, and my eyes drifted to the body of His Evilness, almost as pale as the fur of the rug upon which he was sprawled. His eyes were thankfully closed, but those odd nose-less nostrils were staring up at me, just begging to be useful for something. I snorted and then laughed to myself as I jammed Tommy's wand pieces where they would not easily be missed.

I spotted a writing desk along one side of the room, grabbed some parchment and a quill and began to make a little sign. I finished and held it up to dry, admiring my handiwork.

"Dobby!" I called out.

The little house-elf appeared, beside himself with excitement, jumping and clapping his hands. "The great Harry Potter has killed the bad wizard! This is the greatest day of all days! Harry Potter is the bestest wizard in all the world!"

"Dobby!" I said through my laughter. "I know you're happy but can you keep this a secret? I'd rather no one know about this, not just yet anyway."

"Oh, yes, Dobby can keep Harry Potter's secrets, but this is bestest day ever!"

"OK, sure, Dobby. Do you think this sign will look good on Tom's chest?"

"A sign made by Harry Potter? _'My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle, you used to call me You-Know-Who, but now I'm You-Know-What. Dead.'_ Dobby thinks this is the best sign ever!" He trotted it over to the body and placed it front and center torso with some kind of sticking charm. I expected several in the Ministry were going to have heart attacks when they saw it.

"That looks great, Dobby. You know where to take him, right?"

"Dobby does. Dobby won't be seen when he leaves bad wizard's body behind."

I nodded, and he popped away with said bad wizard in tow. The fun was about to start.

I was so wrapped up in my success, imagining the chaos that was about to descend on wizarding Britain that I lost my sense of situational awareness, forgetting that I was still inside enemy territory and therefore, still in harm's way.

A nasty-looking curse zipped by my ear and I dove sideways, bringing my wand around to form a shield. There, looking even more ragged than the last time I saw him, stood my parents' betrayer, Peter Pettigrew.

"Wormtail!" I cried. He must have been hiding as a rat somewhere nearby. "Your master is gone, killing me serves no purpose, except possibly to make your escape. You're still a coward, aren't you?"

He said nothing, but growled another curse that I successfully deflected.

"This is how you repay me for saving your arse, Wormtail? Remember, you owe me!"

I knew what was going to happen, but Pettigrew was startled by his silver hand – gift of his erstwhile master – suddenly acting of its own accord, reaching for his other hand, trying to snatch away his own wand. I took advantage of the distraction.

 _"Stupefy!"_ I yelled, and he flew back into hall, crashing into the opposite wall before collapsing in a heap. I trotted over to where he lay and snatched his wand, but the silver hand had not succumbed to the stunning spell and was trying to wrench his good arm from its socket. Thinking he wasn't going to need it where he was going, I decided to free the traitor of his own traitorous body part, although I was going to miss the elegant irony of it.

Still holding Wormtail's wand, I cast the cutting spell "Diffindo," and I separated him from his silver appendage, then bound the stump with conjured bandages. "Incarcerous," and ropes suddenly cocooned him. I kicked the now stilled silver arm into fire and sat once again at the little writing desk, thinking about justice for Cedric Diggory, a dozen Muggles and possibly others.

My new sign read, "My name is Peter Pettigrew; I am a RAT – Recreant Animagus Traitor – and a Murderer, NOT Murdered, so I'm returning my Order of Merlin."

I was still laughing when Dobby returned. "Dobby, just in time. Can you put a spell on Mr. Pettigrew here so he can't change into his animagus form? Also, stick this sign and his wand on him as well."

After Dobby happily prepared Wormtail for shipment, I sent them off to the Ministry's Department of Magical Law Enforcement so the rat would be found alongside his former boss. The Daily Prophet would be an interesting read tomorrow.

One task was yet undone. I found the dark corridor that led to the cellar steps. Once at the door, I lit Lucius' wand with one hand, a shield in place with my wand in the other hand. I kicked open the heavy door and rolled to the side, searching the room for possible threats, but there was only one occupant, a bedraggled figure slumped against the far wall. I carefully made my way across the dirty floor and knelt beside him.

"Mr. Ollivander, can you hear me?"

His eyes blinked in the wandlight. "Yes…" he rasped weakly. "Who… are you?"

"No one important, but don't you worry. We're going to get you to St. Mungo's, OK?"

o o o

5.03

2015 SATURDAY LITTLE WHINGING SURREY

A loud crack heralded Dobby and I returning to my little bedroom. "Dobby, your help was invaluable tonight. I couldn't have managed it without you."

"Dobby is too happy to help the great Harry Potter!"

"I know you are, buddy. You are free to go right now, but I will probably need you again in an hour or two, alright?"

He nodded with a wide grin and disappeared.

I opened my bedroom door and descended the stairs.

"Boy!" came the familiar bellow of my uncle. "Is that you?"

I found them, my loving relatives, in the living room, where they seemed to be anxiously awaiting my arrival – undoubtedly a first.

"Well? Did it work?" he pressed. "Can we stay, or is your lot still making us leave the house?"

I seriously considered messing with their heads a little, but it might backfire on me. "Yes, uncle, I was successful, and no, I didn't die."

There were various reactions to this – my uncle visibly relaxed, Dudley nearly knocked me over trying to give me a high five, and my aunt, mum's only sister, looked quite pale with the sudden realization that dying tonight was indeed a possibility.

"Well, I don't want to bother you, so I'll wait in the kitchen for the first of our guests to arrive."

"And tell them to leave us alone, right?"

"Yes, uncle, that's the general idea. I won't be taking everything when I leave so the protective charm should last until my birthday."

He nodded, reaching for the television remote. Wonders never cease – the tellie had been off the entire time, almost as if they cared.

Ten minutes or so passed before I was able to answer the doorbell and confront Dedalus Diggle doffing his silly mauve hat and Emmeline Vance, who just rolled her eyes at him.

"Sorry you came all this way, folks, but there's been a change in plans. We're not leaving tonight."

"Oh?" Dedalus said, "I heard there was a change in plans, but it was not that."

"Well, you may as well come in for the explanation, so I only have to do this once."

They were glad to join me in the kitchen for tea and small talk until a short time after sunset when a thunderous roar was heard in the backyard.

My uncle's head poked through the kitchen doorway. "Boy!" he stage whispered, "who is that outside? Are they your lot? I thought they were supposed to be stealthy!"

Funnily, I had been thinking the same thing.

"Get out there and deal with them – and make sure they stay out of the flowerbeds!"

Flowerbeds that I had planted and tended – that would be one of his primary concerns – and with that parting thought, he led Dudley and my aunt hurriedly upstairs to hide from the freak invasion.

I turned to Dedalus and Emmaline. "Let's go chat with my escort party, shall we?"

A number of figures shimmered into existence in the back garden, not like any sort of magical transportation that I had yet experienced, and I stepped through the door and was greeted with a bushy-headed hug, several Weasley back-slaps from Ron and the twins, and one from Hagrid that nearly knocked me over. Tonks flashed her wedding ring at me, and I congratulated her and Remus. Fleur was as beautiful as ever, holding hands with her fiance Bill; Mr. Weasley and Kingsley smiled their greetings, but Mundungus seemed to avoid looking me in the eye, probably because I disapproved of him stealing my stuff. Too bad.

"It's great to see you guys again, but you shouldn't have come."

"Is that so, Potter?" came a growling voice as Mad-Eye Moody stepped into the light surrounding the back door. "This would be better discussed inside."

We all shuffled into the living room as Moody scowled at Dedalus and Emmaline for not following the plan, his magical eye roaming the entire house, then he faced me with a menacing glint in his one normal eye. "Your friends have been hinting at some very strange things, but first, I need to verify who you really are."

"Sure," I replied, "ask me anything."

"At the last party at headquarters, who was it for, and what did I show you?"

"That was for Ron and Hermione making prefects," I said brightly; if the old auror was going to try to irritate me, he was going to have to try harder. "And you showed me a photo album of the original Order of the Phoenix, featuring lots of dead folks, including my parents standing all buddy-buddy with the one who would sell them out." I grinned as I thought where that same traitor would be headed tomorrow.

He looked at me curiously, trying to figure me out. "What did you mean, we 'shouldn't have come?'"

"What I mean is that your mission here tonight has been compromised. Snape knows we're leaving tonight and there's a few dozen Death Eaters up there right now, circling for the chance to bag the Boy-Who-Lived for their master."

"But Dumbledore vouched for Snape!" Moody said among the cries of indignation.

"Yes, it was Dumbledore's portrait who gave him the time and date, to maintain his position in Tom's inner circle."

That went over like a lead balloon.

"Snape does actually work for us," I continued. "It's true, and he will try to minimize collateral damage without giving himself away, but he's only one guy. If whatever scheme you had planned to get me out of here involves air travel, they will attack us as soon we get beyond whatever enchantment protects this house. They won't be trying to kill me, but none of the rest of you have that luxury. It will be bloody and probably deadly up there tonight, make no mistake. However, I don't need to leave tonight, so the protections will still hold, and you guys can make your way out by another means."

"You don't know what the Ministry has done, Potter –"

"In order to 'protect' me?" I retorted. "I know enough."

"But they have blocked all your other avenues of escape!"

"No, not all of them. I'll leave the same way I've been getting around all week, to Hogwarts, the Burrow, Diagon Alley…"

"And just how have you managed that?"

I leaned toward him with a conspiratorial smirk and whispered, "House-elf."

He gaped at me at me for several seconds, then lowered his head, muttering, "Damn you, Albus." He shook his head and looked back up. "Alright, Potter, so you've got this all figured out, have you? Just what do you propose we do from here?"

I glanced to Kingsley and Tonks. "I suggest calling every auror you can trust to come and get the drop on them. Send up a decoy to get them to show themselves and take them from behind."

"Hmm, that's what you would do, eh?"

"If I could, but hey, I'm still underage, so…"

At that moment an owl flew in the still open door with an envelope in its beak, dropping it even as I held out my hand. Once divested of its burden, it wasted no time in flying back out into the growing darkness.

"That's a Ministry owl!"

I opened the official-looking parchment and read the note from dear old Mafalda Hopkirk, similar to a couple of others I had received here in years past. I couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it.

Moody snatched it out of my hand and studied it. "Potter, why the hell were you performing spells at Malfoy Manor? What have you done?"

o


	6. Reception & Misdirection

**6\. Reception and Misdirection**

o o o

6.01

2130 SATURDAY LITTLE WHINGING SURREY

Mad-Eye Moody glared intently with both eyes – quite unnerving, I must admit – as he held my summons from the Ministry's Improper Use of Magic Office. "Explain yourself, Potter."

Ginny and I had discussed this very possibility and agreed upon a plan – tell enough meaningless parts of the truth to hide the fact that you are holding back on the really important stuff. She could be really sneaky when she needed to be, learning some tricks of her twin brothers. I could only imagine that the years we have ahead of us would be very interesting, and I found myself looking forward to it.

I gave a long-suffering sort of exhale, a little acting bit for starters. "Draco Malfoy was on the astronomy tower that night and had Dumbledore at his mercy. His mission had been to murder the headmaster, but at the last minute he didn't do it. I understood at that moment some of the horrible things he's had to deal with and the fine line he must be trying to walk. I went to him to see if we could put our pasts behind us, maybe work together next year, our last at Hogwarts. I made an offer to help him if he ever wanted out from the subjugation that his dad signed up for. He hasn't accepted it yet, but he did say he appreciated the offer." And that was all pretty much true.

"Some sort of Hogwarts detente, you say? Interesting story, Potter. Let me see your wand."

I pulled it out and handed it over reluctantly. He performed the _Priori Incantatem_ spell to check my wand's history, and he saw the shield spell I performed in the cellar, the stunning and shield spells against Wormtail, the disarming spells against Tom and before that, Draco. Prior to that were all those spells I practiced in the Hogwarts Room of Requirement.

"The last spells from your wand don't exactly match this list," he said, holding up the parchment again, eyebrows raised.

I shrugged, trying to think of a good half-truth he might accept. "I might have borrowed Draco's wand while I was there. Besides, how does the Ministry know what magic I did in a house full of magic?"

"The trace, you fool!" he bellowed. "The Ministry keeps track of all magic performed around under-age wizards, and they have you in particular under high scrutiny, regardless of whose wand you use, until your birthday when the trace finally breaks on its own. Don't forget that! CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

I winced at his reminder, but nodded, for it was a point well-made, and I had been lax. But time was wasting, and I needed to change the subject in a bad way.

"What about the opportunity to capture some Death Eaters? They aren't going to be waiting out there forever."

Moody gave me a long look and said, "We will be talking more about those spells, Potter. Come to the DMLE after you graduate. I want to see how well you'd do as an auror."

"Okay…" I responded, not expecting the invitation.

Meanwhile, he turned sharply to Kingsley. "Contact the A-list, briefing in ten minutes at rendezvous point Griffin Three."

"Right away, sir," said the Auror, and he and Tonks quickly slid outside and disappeared.

"The rest of you youngsters," he growled menacingly, "stay put until we give you the all clear. Order members, defend this house." He then slipped out after the two Aurors.

"May as well get comfy," I said, "this may take a little while."

Hermione, however, looked as if "comfy" was a foreign concept. She strode over to me, hands on her hips.

"Harry James Potter," she said, "we need to talk. Now."

This time my long-suffering sigh was real.

o o o

6.02

1130 SUNDAY OTTERY ST CATCHPOLE DEVON

After Dobby dropped me into the Burrow's orchard once again, Ginny was there to greet me by running at me full tilt and jumping upon me with all four appendages wrapping tightly around me. I managed to brace myself enough that she didn't send us both toppling to the ground, and I received a thorough snogging for my efforts at staying upright. She probably would have snogged me senseless even if I had fallen, but my pride would have suffered. Maybe I could plead for even more snogging to help me recover… something to consider for next time...

She finally released me enough to cry out, "You did it!"

"Did what?" I asked coyly.

She smacked the back of my head. "Don't be that way. I know what you had planned, you told Hermione that the prophecy was done, and I've seen the _Prophet_. You-Know-Who is dead, and you caught Wormtail, too! Everyone is so excited!"

"And just what is the _Prophet_ saying this morning?"

"Oh, they're short on details but very long on speculation. Your name might have come up once or twice, although the Ministry made it quite clear that you were not involved in the 'mysterious overnight operation that brought freedom back to magical Britain' and on and on…"

"Great! That's just what I hoped they'd say." I kissed her again for a long tender moment. "As much as I'd like to do that all day, I probably need to make an appearance with your family."

"Yeah, I suppose so," she grinned. "Maybe we can continue later…?"

"Always, my love, always…"

She raised her eyebrows at my endearment, but her grin would light the night. She grabbed another quick kiss, and we sauntered hand in hand to the strangely stacked structure affectionately known as the Burrow.

Once inside, I was subjected to a rib-crushing welcome from Mrs. Weasley, who then noticed that Ginny's and my hands were still joined. "Is there something you two wanted to share?" she asked pointedly.

Ginny and I glanced at each other and I gave her a nod. This was her mom and I'd let her take lead.

"Harry and I are dating, mum. We started going out after the quidditch final but we… broke up after Dumbledore's funeral. Git here was trying to be noble."

I snorted while Mrs. Weasley stood waiting in anticipation.

"He finally apologized, and I took him back," Ginny beamed. "But please don't make a big fuss over us, mum, we –"

The rest of Ginny's plead was lost in another smothering Mama Weasley embrace. "Oh, I won't, sweetie, but this is so wonderful! You and Harry!"

I was pulled into another hug until I started laughing until I shook too hard for her to hold both of us. She stepped back and both of them were staring at me with bemusement.

"I'm sorry," I said, wiping my eyes, "I don't know why I'm laughing, I guess I'm just really happy right now." And I was, deliriously so. Maybe the emotions of the last few days were catching up to me or someone got me with a few cheering charms. So I just grinned stupidly back.

"If you say so," Mrs. Weasley said. "Now what's this I hear about you, Ron and Hermione not going back to school?"

"Oh, that's old information," I replied with a wave. "We will all be on the Express come the first of September – it will be our last time after all, wouldn't want to miss that!"

She didn't seem convinced, so I continued with a little less frivolity.

"The task that Dumbledore set for me to do has been completed, much quicker than any of us anticipated, so the contingency plans we made are no longer necessary. We _will_ be in school – I swear."

"Thank you, Harry, it's just that a mother worries so about her children – _all_ of them," she added, eyes boring into mine. "Lunch will be ready in just a little while," she added with a small smile.

"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley. I really appreciate that." And I did. It was good to be back in one of my favorite places anywhere, the Burrow kitchen under the loving hand of Molly Weasley, the only mother I'd really ever known. It made me wonder if things had been different, somehow…

"Excuse me, Harry," came the gentle voice of Mr. Weasley, so different from his wife's. "Do you mind if we speak privately for a few moments?" He glanced questioning at Ginny.

For some reason, the girl was actually smirking at me. "I don't mind," she replied coyly.

"Er, sure, no problem," I replied, wondering just what I was missing.

"Let's step outside for a bit," he said, stepping back out onto the porch. He stepped down onto the lawn and started off toward the paddock.

As I caught up he looked over appraisingly. "Kingsley and Mad-Eye were here earlier, Harry. They told me some very interesting stories about some unusual happenings yesterday."

"Yeah? What about?" I wasn't going to volunteer anything I didn't have to, not knowing the lay of the land yet, so to speak.

"Despite what was reported in the _Daily Prophet_ , Peter Pettigrew and You-Know-Who were not captured in the raid over your village. They were discovered in one of the DMLE holding cells last night when the others were brought in. I understand that it caused quite a stir, and the guards couldn't explain how anyone got past them. That area is secured against portkeys and apparition, you see."

"Wow! What do they think happened?"

"They are at a loss to explain it, but you may have noticed that they didn't mind taking credit for the captures," he chuckled. "However, Mad-Eye has this theory that a house-elf under orders _might_ be able to pull off a stunt like that. What do you think?"

"I suppose it might be possible," I shrugged, "but who would want to do something like that?"

"I can think of a few people," he sighed, "but Mad-Eye and Kingsley also went to Malfoy Manor to follow up on the activity mentioned in your summons. They found Lucius Malfoy stunned in his own drawing room, along with You-Know-Who's decapitated snake in a back hall. Lucius was quoted saying you were there threatening him, Harry."

The fact that the Ministry had a record of me casting spells at Lucius' home meant that this could be trouble.

"Do you think anyone will believe him?" I asked.

"Oh, yes," he replied, "there will always be supporters – although a few less now – but I don't know how this will be received by the average witch or wizard when it gets out that you were there with You-Know-Who, and he was subsequently found dead. Public opinion can be a very fickle thing, you know."

Oh, I knew, all right. I had been alternately deified and vilified at Hogwarts, sometimes by the same people on the same day.

Mr. Weasley continued, "I just wanted to warn you, Harry, to be very careful. I imagine that whatever you did yesterday was incredibly risky, but you managed to pull it off anyway as you tend to do, and I'm sure that we should all be extremely grateful whether anyone knows it or not."

I nodded stoically to his roundabout compliment.

He cleared his throat. "On another topic, I couldn't help but overhear you and Ginny talking to Molly…"

I started, not expecting to get _this_ particular talk so soon.

"She is our only daughter –"

"Mr. Weasley," I broke in, "Ginny and I are still young and we have only been dating for a little while, but I can assure you that I will treat her with honor and respect to the best of my ability; she deserves at least that much. As for the future, there's a possibility that we might end up together, and that appeals to me very much right now. But I want to let our relationship develop naturally, so don't expect me to ask your permission for anything until after we're both out of school."

"I was hoping you'd say something like that," he smiled warmly in return. "And I doubt our Ginny will let you take her anywhere she doesn't want to go. One word of advice from a guy who has managed to stay married for a few years now: Don't turn small disagreements into big ones; let them go. When you have important decisions to make, make them together. If you believe strongly in something, make sure she knows that, just as you listen to what she has strong feelings about. Work things out to the best of your ability, and if that fails, just go with whatever she wants."

He clapped his hand on my shoulder as we headed back to the house, laughing at what we would do to keep our ladies happy.

Lunch was a boisterous affair with a platoon of redheads in attendance. There was some small talk about the previous evening's events, but the current favorite topic had to be Bill and Fleur's upcoming nuptials. It was only three days away, the Delacour family was arriving tomorrow, and there were still sooooo many little things yet to be accomplished. However, I had a very strong hunch that it would take a fraction of the time described in the book because Molly wouldn't be inventing tasks to keep us occupied and separate.

That turned out to be the case; after lunch we were shooed outside to perform several chores around the yard. We even got to make a game of de-gnoming Molly's garden. The odd little pests with potato-like heads would eventually come back, so the farther one could fling them, the better. Bill was the best at distance tosses, but Ron came in a very close second. It was little surprise that Ginny won the accuracy contest, but I only seemed best at getting my fingers bit when I was distracted watching Ginny. She, Hermione and Fleur all seemed to think my injuries were funny for some reason.

All the while, Mr. Weasley's comment about public opinion kept niggling at the back of my brain. When we finally had the yard in acceptable condition, I pulled Ginny into my arms. "How about an afternoon date in Diagon Alley?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Just for a date?"

Damn, this girl knew me too well. "I need to make an appearance, talk to the press. It's like we talked about the other day – we need to get the story that we want told out there, so there will be less speculation that I'm about the next Dark Wizard terrorizing the good people of magical Britain."

"I thought as much," she said with a wry smile, " but I want a _real_ date soon."

"Of course, my love. Your wish is my command."

She replied with a lingering kiss, earning us a few catcalls and a protest from Ron.

"Oi, Potter, don't snog my sister in front of me!"

Ginny gave him a withering look. "Shut it, Ron, I'm snogging _him_."

My cup of happiness bubbled over once again and I burst out laughing, squeezing Ginny to make sure this amazing girl was truly real.

o o o

6.03

1500 SUNDAY DIAGON ALLEY LONDON

With the approval of Ginny's parents, we flooed to the Leaky Cauldron, which served as the entrance to the London magical district. I waved at Tom the barkeep as we passed through and he waved back excitedly.

"Good show, Harry!" he yelled out, nearly causing an uproar in the half-filled bar. People started to clap and cheer as we hurried by their tables.

Fortunately, we were almost to the alley exit and were able to bow our way out the door before anyone had launched themselves at us.

I hurriedly tapped the appropriate bricks with my wand, holding Ginny with my other hand.

"They know, Harry," she whispered.

"They suspect," I said. "That's why I need to echo the Ministry's position, so the spotlight will remain on them."

"Good luck," she chuckled.

The alley seemed as busy as I had ever seen it, even when I had stayed here after blowing up dear Aunt Marge, who for some reason reminded me of Dolores Umbridge. I winced at the thought of both of those revolting humans at the same time, and refocused my attention on the beautiful witch beside me.

"Anywhere in particular you want to visit?"

"Hmm," she said, wrinkling her pert nose, "Quality Quidditch, Flourish and Blotts… oh, we must drop by the twins' shop!"

"Brooms, books, and pranks. I like it." We laughed together, arm in arm.

But we had only passed the first couple of shops before the whispering began, and the staring, and then people were approaching us, asking for my autograph and asking the strangest questions. Why on earth would anyone care what hair products I used? I was in a good mood, so I tried to honor all the requests as best I could.

Before long, the reporters arrived and began making more pointed questions.

"Mr. Potter, how do you feel about You-Know-Who's death?"

No beating around the bush for this crowd. "I was glad to hear that we won't be troubled by him anymore, for that's all he was, trouble for our world, creating division and inciting mayhem and murder. Good riddance, I say, and I would like to express my appreciation for the Minister, all the Aurors and other Ministry personnel who were involved in yesterday's operations."

"Harry, are you sure that the Ministry is not deceiving us again? How can we be certain that You-Know-Who is really gone this time?"

"That's a fair point, but I feel confident that they are being truthful this time. I have personal evidence, because the scar that he gave me as a child has recently changed." I lifted up my fringe, displaying the Founders' Cross that had replaced the lightning bolt on my forehead.

Cameras flashed, and I knew this would be a lead story for the next day or so. I didn't feel too bad about mixing up the details a bit about my scar, because I needed to have some excuse why it was different, and I certainly couldn't tell them the truth. No one would believe it anyway.

"And who is the pretty witch by your side?" came a very familiar voice. "Does your girlfriend, Miss Granger, know that you are with someone else?"

"Ah, Rita Skeeter, so lovely to see you again, and outside a broom cupboard this time."

Several gasps went up and the normally haughty witch paused, a recognizable quill just pulled from her bag, astonished that I would have gained the offensive so quickly.

Pressing my advantage, I snatched the Quick-Quotes Quill from her hand. "I remember this, handy little device as I recall." I remembered that it had to be primed by the user before it would obey their will. I sucked on the end of it, just as Rita had done during the Triwizard Tournament interview. I set it in place over the parchment Rita was holding as she watched, horrified, as it began to write.

 _Harry Potter sends greetings to his beetle friend._

"Now, RIta," I explained in a patronizing tone, "you remember that Hermione is just a very good friend of mine. As I told you before, she was never my girlfriend, despite what you claimed in your columns."

 _And he insists that future articles about me and my friends must state only facts, not your ridiculous speculations, or there will be hell to pay_ , wrote the quill.

"This lovely lady here is Ginny Weasley, and she has agreed to accompany me on a shopping trip today. You may recall that the Weasleys are very good friends of mine, and she happens to be prettier than her brothers."

As I spoke, the quill continued, _And you must notify me if you are anywhere in my vicinity in your animagus form_. Rita finally came to her senses and mutinously shoved parchment and quill back into her bag.

Ginny laughed, and we cozied up together for the requisite photos. With Tom gone, I had no problem letting the world know that we were an item now; hopefully some of the crazy fangirls would stay away – if I was lucky.

All in all, it turned out to be a great afternoon after the impromptu press conference, and we did make it to several shops before returning to the Burrow with a few small purchases in hand.

o o o

6.04

2100 SUNDAY DEPARTMENT OF MYSTERIES LONDON

Three men sat at a simple round table in an unadorned conference room in an unnamed area of the department. Two wore robes of deep maroon while the third had robes of medium gray.

"This is your agent who most closely matches the profile?" gray robes asked the older of the two in maroon, indicating the younger.

"Yes, he is well within specifications," older maroon robes replied in an American accent. "While he is at the upper end of the designated age bracket, he is a dedicated worker, goal oriented, and works extremely well in support roles."

"Very well. He has been briefed on the use of proxy magic?"

"He knows of its experimental nature and the risks involved. This has been approved by your Minister?"

"Our current Minister will be informed if the mission succeeds. We have prior approval from the Supreme Mugwump."

"Yes, of course. How much do we know of the host?"

Gray robes handed over a folder. "He is Muggle, of course; proxy magic cannot be hosted by magical beings. He is aged 17 years, currently in hospital in the colonies – the city is Charlotte, in North Carolina – for injuries received during an automobile accident. The worst of these is severe head trauma and he is being kept in a magically induced coma, without the knowledge of the Muggles. Our American field agent that located the host for our mark was lucky to find two friends affected almost identically."

He turned to the younger man. "Your primary mission is to assist the mark in surviving the duration of the ritual and discovering the knowledge he must obtain for his own mission upon his return. We have indirect evidence that your primary will be successful. Your secondary mission is to obtain this knowledge as well. We have reason to believe it is highly sensitive and dangerous, and will become known to the populace at large if no action is taken."

"How am I supposed to discover this knowledge as a Muggle?" asked the younger man.

"Our intelligence from previous ritual volunteers has indicated that the knowledge is becoming openly available in the Muggle world, but has received little attention in our world. This is the form it will take." He handed them a book.

"How curious – the Muggles have their own Harry Potter stories?"

o


	7. Innocence & Guilt

**A/N:** Harry's court appointment, on his birthday, no less. I thought about editing the testimony but couldn't find enough worthwhile to take out that wouldn't disrupt the continuity. If you tend to skim read over things you think you may already know, you could miss something never revealed before – the real reason Harry survived Halloween 1981.

* * *

 **7\. Innocence and Guilt**

o o o

7.01

0740 TUESDAY MINISTRY OF MAGIC LONDON

Ron slapped my back playfully as the the witch behind the counter handed me a carefully folded piece of fresh parchment.

"I _told_ you it would be a breeze if you could already side-along Dumbledore."

"And I told _you_ that he was probably helping me all along."

I slipped my brand-new official "Licence to Apparate" inside my robes with an ear-to-ear grin. The seventh book never indicated that I had performed this traditional coming-of-age ritual in that other reality, so I wanted to make sure I was legal now that it was my birthday.

I was seventeen – again – although my other life was becoming more like a distant memory now. _This_ was my reality, and it was oddly liberating to know that I now had all the freedoms allowed an adult in this world.

I also had all the responsibilities, and my first was a hearing regarding Improper Use of Magic – underage magic. The standard plea was self-defense, and that would require a good deal of explanation, if I was allowed. When that blustering fool Fudge was minister, he refused to listen to anything I had to say; maybe Scrimgeour would be a little more reasonable, assuming he would be present. Since I was due in the same courtroom in just a few minutes, I also had to assume that a similar stunt was being pulled. The entire Wizengamot was probably waiting to sink their teeth into the Boy-Who-Lived; they just had no idea how hard I would be to chew on.

Reporters hanging about near the lifts tried asking questions, but I flashed my new apparition license with my "this-is-all-you-get" grin, and they had to satisfy themselves with mere photos. Surely their imaginations could fill in the blanks here, but I wouldn't be betting any of _my_ gold on that.

I looked at my watch one last time; it read 7:57. Ron and I were alone in the familiar lower level corridor outside the old courtroom ten. I slipped out my invisibility cloak and handed it to him, and he threw it quickly over himself.

"I hope that you won't be needed, Ron, but stay ready for anything. I have no idea how this is going to play out. If it all goes pear-shaped, your priority is to get the girls to safety."

His face still visible, he nodded in acknowledgement. "Always glad to have your back, mate." He brought the hood forward, and just like a Cheshire Cat's, his grin was the last thing to disappear.

I stepped towards the ancient wooden door, slowly turned the heavy iron handle and stepped inside, giving Ron time to move through behind me. The dungeon courtroom looked almost the same as two years before, when I had been here under similar circumstances. As I had guessed, the entire Wizengamot was in attendance, fully attired in plum dress robes. Some of the faces were familiar, scowling down from the bench tiers, but many I did not recognize. There were several attendees that were apparently not members of the court itself, yet managed seats on the benches beside them. Two figures were wearing cloaks – one in gray, one in maroon – with deep hoods hiding their faces. Probably Unspeakables, I thought, but I had no time to speculate why they might be here. No telling what they do for entertainment in the Department of Mysteries.

Mad-Eye Moody sat on the end of the front row, and I could tell his magical eye that could see through invisibility cloaks was following Ron's movement to the side gallery. Thankfully I had briefed the former Auror – no need to create an embarrassing situation before the hearing even started. I was glad to see that Kingsley Shacklebolt and Nymphadora Tonks were two of the Aurors stationed along each side of the floor. Tonks gave me a clandestine wink and thumbs up as I passed.

I spotted Hermione and Ginny sitting next to Mr. Weasley in the visitor's gallery, but I couldn't risk acknowledging them as I approached the minister's box.

"Thank you for coming, Mr. Potter." Rufus Scrimgeour's gravelly voice was intended to intimidate me, but I wasn't here to play his game. "You may have a seat."

I looked around at the chair for the accused, draped with chains that seemed extremely eager to wrap themselves around another prisoner. I didn't like feeling any more vulnerable than I already was.

"I don't mind standing, Minister, if that's alright." I flashed my best innocent smile.

"As you wish," Scrimgeour glared back. "Let's begin since everyone is here. Weasley, are you ready?"

Ron's older brother wouldn't look my way, but gave his all too eager affirmation to the minister.

"Ministry Hearing of Inquiry, 31 July, 1997, into activities of Harry James Potter of number four Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. Interrogators: Minister of Magic Rufus Scrimgeour, Director of Magical Law Enforcement Pius Thicknesse, and Minister's Senior Undersecretary Dolores Umbridge. Court Scribe: Percy Weasley."

Yes, Umbridge the toad lives and breathes still. This should be interesting.

"You are Harry James Potter?"

I nodded. "Yes, good to see you again, sir."

The minister didn't like my apparent cavalier attitude. "You don't have any surprise defense counselors waiting out there?" he sneered, recalling Dumbledore's appearance two years earlier.

"I reserve the right to call witnesses if the court finds my testimony is inadequate, but no, I am handling my own defense this morning, sir."

"Very well," he growled. "Mr. Potter, you have been accused of violating the Statute for Underage Sorcery by using magic outside of school, specifically, stupefying, summoning, disarming, cutting, conjuring, binding, and shielding spells beginning at approximately twelve minutes after seven on 25 July at Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire, and that said magic was performed during unlawful trespass of said manor, and that said magic was was used to threaten other persons, namely Lucius Malfoy, and resulted in the unlawful theft of Lucius Malfoy's wand. These are very serious charges, Mr. Potter, and carry a minimum sentence of three years imprisonment, destruction of your own wand, not to mention expulsion from Hogwarts. If you had been of age the punishments would be even more severe."

"Minister, if I may, I understood this hearing to be about alleged use of underage magic. These other charges…"

"The scope of this hearing was expanded, Mr. Potter," Scrimgeour cut across me. "You were sent an owl this morning."

I tried hard to keep from rolling my eyes. "Ah, that would explain it. The owl couldn't have reached me since I was already here, up on the sixth level." I smiled again, this time with teeth, as I again held out my freshly-inked Apparition license. "I am no legal expert, sir, but I assume that the court does allow a defendant some time to actually prepare a defense."

There was muttering in the rows behind the minister, indicating that I had at least some support.

"So you are requesting we reschedule, allowing you to conjure up another fanciful tale justifying your actions?"

The minister was aiming below the belt, so I was forced to counter.

"No, I am not making such a request, and while the facts will indeed seem a fanciful tale, I can assure you that they are not. I have evidence that these accusations are frivolous at best. Furthermore, I don't believe for a minute that Mr. Malfoy is pressing charges against me. It seems far more likely that someone on your staff has fabricated the additional charges to cast an ill light on these proceedings."

The minister was turning a lovely shade of purple. "Young man, do I need to remind you that this is a court of law, and that you are the accused, not the other way round?"

"No, sir, and meaning no disrespect to the court, I only ask that I am treated fairly under the law. Surely you realize that I have reason to maintain a healthy skepticism toward the political arm of the ministry."

"Nonsense! There are no rogue elements in these offices, and the incidents to which you refer were dealt with long ago."

"Sir, the Ministry of Magic has been infiltrated by enemies to wizarding society, probably more than you realize. For instance, is your MLE Director still under the _Imperius_ curse?"

If I hadn't been looking for it, I wouldn't have seen it in time. Pius Thicknesse had pulled his wand and fired a hex that I had to dodge with a roll to the side. In one swift movement I bounded back up immediately in front of the mad director, snatched his wand directly from his hand and flicked it back to Kingsley, who almost fired a hex himself, but caught it in his free hand.

The large black Auror held the offending wand out for all to see that he had possession of it.

I nodded to Kingsley, took a deep breath and stepped back to my original position. "I rest my case on that matter, Minister Scrimgeour."

It had all happened so fast that no one was certain what to do. Half the Aurors had wands trained on Thicknesse, half were on me. For some reason, Mad-Eye seemed to find the whole thing hilarious, barely able to control his laughter.

The minister frowned. "Dawlish, Reynolds!" he grumbled. "Please escort Mr. Thicknesse to the Spell Reversal holding area to get sorted out. The rest of you may stand down."

After the entourage filed out of the courtroom, Scrimgeour's attention returned to me.

"Mr. Potter, we have irrefutable evidence against you, and creating diversions such as this will not help your case."

"Sir, I did no magic unlawfully, and this accusation that I stole Mr. Malfoy's wand..."

"Are you contesting the evidence, Mr. Potter?"

"No, sir, I am only stating that I was within my rights to defend myself while being attacked, and I can prove it. Moreover, I was an invited guest at Malfoy Manor."

"Invited! By whom?"

"Draco Malfoy, sir."

"Mr. Potter, I'm not sure what kind of stunt you're trying to pull, but the Malfoy heir and his mother have not been seen since the evening you were at Malfoy Manor. Their coincidental timing of their disappearance seems very suspicious. You are lucky that we are not yet pressing additional charges…"

"You are not pressing charges probably because he took my advice to leave the country. A simple misunderstanding, I'm sure."

Scrimgeour looked happy for the first time since I'd arrived. "Oho! So you accept responsibility for their sudden disappearance?"

"They accepted my invitation, if that's what you mean. I know of no laws that were broken, minister."

He scowled through his lion-like beard. "That remains to be seen, Mr. Potter. What proof have you that you were attacked?"

"I have the wand that was used to attack me. If one of your Aurors will kindly check, it should verify what I am saying."

"You are trying the patience of this court, Mr. Potter, but I will allow it."

I looked back toward Kingsley, who I knew would give me fair treatment. "Auror… Shacklebolt, isn't it?" I asked expectantly, pretending not to know him.

He nodded, his face was expressionless, but I could discern a hint of mirth in his eyes as I handed him the Malfoy wand. He was enjoying this almost as much as I was.

Kingsley inspected the wand and checked it with a couple of spells to determine its composition and age, which he reported to the court.

"Is there a way to determine ownership of this wand?" I asked.

"Not conclusively, no," Kingsley responded in his soft yet rich voice, "but the specifications and carvings match the description of Lucius Malfoy's wand."

"Thank you." I addressed the members of the Wizengamot. "For the record, to the best of my knowledge this wand did belong to Mr. Malfoy, yet it was not in his possession Saturday evening, therefore it was not stolen by me. Now, if Auror Shacklebolt will kindly show us the last spell from this wand?"

With all eyes watching, Kingsley touched his wand to Malfoy's and whispered " _Priori Incantantem._ "

A collective gasp filled the room as an image of the easily recognizable bright green flash of the killing curse erupted from the end of the wand, only to be repelled by another spell from an unknown source.

The murmurs were interrupted by a sound that I had been awaiting – a high-pitched "Hem, hem" voice next to the minister. Umbridge had apparently had enough.

"Mr. Potter," she simpered in her annoying falsetto, "surely you do not expect us to believe that you, barely out of childhood, are capable of defeating the _Avada Kedavra_ curse, a feat never before accomplished?"

I returned her sickeningly sweet smile. "Why, hello again, Madame Umbridge. I must say that Hogwarts just hasn't been the same without you. Peeves, for one, misses you terribly."

If looks could kill, Umbridge would have me dead several times over.

"I should point out," I continued, "that the curse has been defeated once before; it may have slipped your mind." My smile increased as a few chuckles escaped from behind the woman who so resembled an overgrown toad. "And no, I do not expect _you_ to believe it. Judging strictly from past experience, I expect you will call me a liar and do your best to discredit me, then try to make whatever I am doing an illegal activity. Failing that, I expect you to become _truly_ creative. The dementor attack was brilliant, by the way – after all, who would suspect a senior ministry official – and without Dumbledore's quick thinking it would have worked, too."

"Of course it would have, you little degenerate!" Umbridge fumed. "You and that bumbling old fool had the audacity to attempt undermining the ministry's authority and disrupting our peaceful society. Someone had to stop you and I was the only one who did anything other than whinge about it. And Dumbledore's no longer here with his smoke and mirror tricks to help you worm out of trouble this time…"

"Madame Umbridge!" Scrimgeour was looking at her as if for the first time. "I suggest you leave the rest of the questioning to me. In fact, we could use your expertise to help Mr. Thicknesse with his situation. Sebastien, would you kindly accompany Dolores to the lifts?" He gave a tall imposing Auror a pointed look, as if to say that he should stay with the toad all the way to the holding area.

The departure of his fuming undersecretary left empty seats on either side of Scrimgeour, and he had lost most of his bluster. "Don't see why Fudge ever hired that damn fool witch," he muttered to no one in particular.

"Maybe he was overcome by her obvious charm," I volunteered.

Utter silence fell over the room until a snort escaped from someone behind me, probably Tonks, followed by tittering in the benches, then the dam burst and most everyone was laughing heartily.

Except the minister.

He banged his gavel a few times. "Mr. Potter," he growled, "I do not care to drag this on all day. Now, we were discussing the wand you said belonged to Mr. Malfoy. Who was it that had possession and cast that curse?"

"A wizard by the name of Tom Marvolo Riddle."

"And what happened to this Riddle?"

"I sent him to you, sir. He had an odd sinus problem afterward, you see…"

"No one came to my office…" Scrimgeour paused, and his face blanched. "You…" he whispered, "all along…"

Then he was on his feet, red-faced and yelling, "You deliberately come here, using obfuscation games to embarrass the ministry and mock this court – what is it you want, Potter?!"

A few of the senior Aurors knew what had gotten Scrimgeour upset, but most members of the Wizengamot appeared to be taken aback by the sudden outburst.

"Minister Scrimgeour," I replied levelly, "I did not come here with the intent to embarrass the ministry; they seem to be quite adept at doing that on their own."

Scrimgeour looked ready to pounce, so I hurried on.

"Sir, a few weeks ago, you asked me a question that I refused to answer. To present a proper defense, I will answer that question and several others that you may or may not have asked before. Unfortunately, some of these truths will be uncomfortable to hear and difficult to believe or even understand. I must ask your indulgence – that you are prepared to listen with an open mind – for if you are not, I do not wish to inconvenience you or the good people of the Wizengamot any further, and I will rest my case right now."

I had opened the door; now I had to trust in Scrimgeour's burning curiosity to peek inside.

He retained his furious glare at me. "I doubt I could prove you were deliberately withholding pertinent information, Mr. Potter, so I will allow you to continue."

"I want to answer your questions, sir, _all_ of them," I responded. "However, before I can do that, I would respectfully like to make two requests of the court."

Scrimgeour was glaring again, but he wanted that information. "The court will entertain your requests."

"Firstly, I request that the court allow me some discretion in the depth of detail in my testimony. Some of what I have to say can be classified as extremely sensitive, and should not be revealed to the public at large. These would fall into the category of state secrets."

"I can understand where that may be necessary. It will be granted, as long as you agree to provide the missing detail in confidence if requested."

"Fair enough," I agreed. "I also request immunity from prosecution for certain parties as noted on this parchment."

Scrimgeour looked doubtful as I handed him the single sheet that mentioned no names, only that they were magical and non-magical humans, along with individuals of non-human sentient species, that assisted Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter in the defeat of the dark wizard known as Lord Voldemort.

He narrowed his eyes at me, but I remained steadfast and willed him to understand.

"This is highly irregular, Mr. Potter, but I grant your request, only that it be limited specifically as described on this document." He knew he was defeated, but would not inform the rest of the court just how big a concession he was making.

"Thank you, sir," I said, bowing respectfully. "Minister Scrimgeour and members of the Wizengamot, I would like to start with a little bit of history." This would not be the same nuts and bolts version I gave to Draco. This would be tailored to this particular audience.

"It was about sixty years ago that a young boy named Tom Riddle arrived at Hogwarts, having recently learned that he was a wizard. He was sorted into Slytherin House and became a model student, extremely talented, responsible and well-mannered, earning himself loyal friendships and the respect of the staff, so that he became a prefect in his fifth year and was head boy his seventh year.

"Naturally, young Tom was curious about his lineage and did exhaustive research on wizarding genealogy, discovering that his mother, Merope Gaunt, was a member of the last family that could trace a direct line to Salazar Slytherin himself, and that he himself could potentially claim to be the heir of Slytherin, since the Gaunt line ended with him. He was disappointed to learn that his father, also Tom Riddle, was a mere Muggle who lived in the same village. Merope had no formal magical training but managed to seduce Tom Senior with some kind of compulsion magic – probably a love potion of her own brewing – and was distraught when he rejected her after she stopped giving him the potion, eventually drifting to a Muggle orphanage in London, where she died shortly after giving birth."

"This is all very interesting," Scrimgeour interrupted, "but how is this pertinent to your defense?"

"I'm getting to that, Minister. You see, the well-mannered face of Tom Riddle hid a young man full of anger at what fate had left him and a lust for power over his circumstance and those that put him there. He was lured by the potential of Dark Magic, studied it extensively, and became well-versed in using it while still in school, unknown to any but his closest friends. He detested the name of his father, so he created a new moniker, an anagram of his birth name. So Tom Marvolo Riddle," and I waved my wand to form the words in mid-air just as he had shown me, "became 'I am Lord Voldemort.'"

The letters rearranged themselves, and entire Wizengamot gaped, speechless, as much as from this revelation as my audacity in uttering the name aloud. At least no one fainted or ran screaming from the room.

"So this man that we had feared for so long was in fact no lord at all, his name just an invention from his youth. An invention that he later brought to bear when he decided to pull the ultimate prank on the magical society of Britain."

"A prank, you say?" the minister asked sceptically.

"Yes – Tom Marvolo Riddle led a new movement purporting fulfillment of his ancestor Slytherin's ideals of pure-blood supremacy, when in fact he was using the wealthiest families in our society to fund his personal quest for power, luring the privileged with promises of glory by his side, playing upon their fears of being usurped by muggle-borns and half-bloods ignorant of ancient magical traditions. He, the son of a muggle, succeeded in enticing notables such as Lucius Malfoy into becoming common thugs who could use their wealth for influence peddling, then even torture and murder if he asked. And all without using the _Imperius_ curse, despite what they may claim. But even these most loyal followers, his so-called Death Eaters, were treated severely when they failed to do his bidding. It was the ultimate prank, and we all fell for it. A great many supported his movement, if not his methods, not knowing his true aim.

"No one knew that his desire for power was boundless, and he sought ways to conquer the only thing that would inevitably defeat him – death. He studied the darkest forms of necromancy to find a way to become immortal, only one step away from a self-proclaimed deity where blood status would mean nothing unless one swore fealty to him. And he nearly succeeded, based on what happened when he attacked my family. Professor Dumbledore had suspected what he had been doing, but wasn't certain until after Tom regained a body two years ago."

I paused to conjure a glass of water. There was a heavy silence as I sipped to relieve my dry throat.

"Godric's Hollow, Halloween, 1981. The events of that night have been widely speculated upon but very little real information has been available to make more than mere educated guesses. Dumbledore passed along to me what he knew and had his own theories which are probably the most accurate that I know about. However, I have given this a lot of thought, and I have some ideas of my own, being the sole survivor of that tragic night."

"But you were just a child, Mr. Potter. How could you possibly remember what happened?"

"A legitimate question, minister. However, I am rewarded with hearing my parents' voices in their last moments every time I am in close proximity to a dementor."

I paused to collect myself again, noting the mixture of shock, pity or understanding on the faces staring back unabashedly.

"The reason Tom came that night was because of a prophecy, one that was partially overheard by one of his spies several months before I was born. It foretold of the coming of someone that would be able to 'vanquish' him. Based on what he was told, Tom decided that the child of James and Lily Potter was a potential candidate. I was not the only one, but I was the first he had access to when Peter Pettigrew, who had quietly become one of his followers, was made secret keeper for my family's _Fidelius_ charm. Sirius Black, as you should have heard by now, was the obvious choice but instead posed as a decoy. While my father and his friends thought they were being clever, the choice turned out to be their downfall. No one suspected Pettigrew of being a traitor.

"It should be mentioned that the spy who told Tom the prophecy was Severus Snape, and he did something that set in motion the events that saved my life. Snape was a childhood friend of my mother's before they parted ways over ideology at Hogwarts. Upon learning who the target was, he asked Tom for a special favor – that he would spare his friend, Lily. The dark lord acquiesced to the request, and so Tom came to Godric's Hollow _intending_ to leave my mother alive, and as we all know, intent is a very important part of magic.

"He caught my parents completely unawares – they did not even have their wands when he blasted open the front door. My father tried to delay him while mum ran upstairs with me, yet Tom murdered him with little thought, pureblood status disregarded.

"Tom then went up to the nursery to find my mother standing before the crib where she placed me, protecting me, for she knew I was his target. Remember that he did not plan to kill her, so he ordered her to stand aside. She refused, saying, 'No, not Harry, kill me instead.' He again ordered her to stand aside and again she refused, pleading for mercy, and then he killed her. Next he aimed his wand at me, and his curse did something very unusual – it rebounded back to him, leaving me scarred, yet somehow alive.

"Dumbledore told me that my mother may have called up an ancient magic and protected me with love. While that may be partially true, I don't feel that is a complete explanation for my survival. Surely some other parent sacrificing themselves in protection of their child would have been able to duplicate my mum's results, but in all human history no such case is known. Indeed, the reward for sacrificial love is not typically granted upon the survivors, but in a higher plane of the afterlife.

"So what tipped the balance to enable Lily Potter to succeed where no other had before? I think the answer may be simpler than anyone ever realized.

"If we think of those present in that room – three magical persons – two of whom begin a sort of negotiation: 'Stand aside,' Tom said, implying a life-for-a-life bargain: 'If you let me kill your child, I will spare you.' That was not acceptable to my mum, so she immediately refused and countered with a proposal of her own: 'No, not Harry, kill me instead. . .'

"Now let's assume that by some chance in the heightened emotions present that their magic linked to accept this as a magical agreement – and noting that as my only surviving parent my mum had the power to negotiate on my behalf – and by following through with her request and killing her, he had sealed the vow between them: 'Not Harry, kill me instead.'

" _He had just magically vowed not to harm me. A vow sealed with my mother's blood._

"The resulting effect was that by sending his curse in my direction with murderous intent, he violated the vow just created, and magic responded by rendering his curse mostly ineffective against me and granting me lasting protection from him."

The looks of amazement would have been comical if the situation had been the least bit humorous.

"I had no idea of the existence of modern prophecies," I continued, "nor that the Ministry of Magic kept records of them, until just over a year ago. I also learned later that same night that one of these was made to Albus Dumbledore, so he was able to relate it to me with his pensieve. It said that the Dark Lord would mark his vanquisher as his equal, and have a power that he knew not."

"You see, it wasn't anything I did that night – what a ridiculous idea, that a toddler in nappies could defeat one of the world's most powerful wizards – no, it was the power that he didn't know about, the power of a mother's love, a love so great that she would give everything to save her child, and a magical vow casting a protective spell over me so that he couldn't kill me, a spell that Dumbledore used to continue that protection at my relative's house, because it was magic of a blood vow and would only work through those that shared my mother's blood. Yes, I was the 'boy who lived,' but it was my mum, a Muggle-born witch, that was the hero that night, that defeated him and caused his curse at me to rebound upon himself."

I hadn't realized that I had closed my eyes, my voice barely a whisper, until it finally broke. I took a longer sip of water and a couple of deep breaths, steeling myself to go on.

"But if his own curse rebounded upon him," I continued, "why did he not die when his physical body was destroyed? Dumbledore was able to eventually confirm that Tom had performed some very dark rituals to keep his spirit anchored to this plane, soul-splitting rituals so dark and self-destructive that very few would be foolish enough to attempt this kind of evil even once, yet he performed it several times. Tom had become less than human, fracturing his own soul to the point that he was extremely fragile, and the rebounding curse loosed part of his essence which sought out the only remaining living being in the room, lodging itself in my scar, through which I had some kind of unique link to him which has thankfully now been broken. By his own actions, he had marked me as the prophecy foretold, and created his own nemesis. Yes, I was the chosen one, chosen by Tom himself through his own folly, and I was burdened with an obligation to Fate that I only discovered when Dumbledore explained the prophecy to me. For the prophecy also said that 'either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives.'

"As you can imagine, the idea that I had to be the one to kill him terrified me. How was I supposed to duel someone that even Dumbledore couldn't defeat? What if he killed me first? Would that mean that he could never be defeated?

"Of course, I was assuming that we would have to do battle in the traditional sense, and years of intensive training would probably still leave me wanting in a straight duel. Sure, I made it through the Triwizard Tournament, but only because it was rigged that I should win it as part of an elaborate scheme to capture me. Fortunately, I had two very important things in my favor when I was unwittingly brought to him that night. He vainly sought a way to get to me and foolishly used my blood, the blood that carried my mother's magical protection of love, as part of the ritual to regain his physical form. He hadn't heard the full prophecy and didn't realize that this would be of little benefit to him, but ironically doubled that protection for me, preventing anyone from ever being able to kill me outright while he was still alive. Also, unknown to Tom, each of our wands contained a feather from the same phoenix. He thought it sporting to challenge me, and we discovered that brother wands do not work properly against each other, creating enough of a distraction for me to escape him.

"Professor Dumbledore's painstaking research finally uncovered the secrets of the magic Tom used to keep himself alive. Unfortunately, Dumbledore was caught in a booby-trap of Tom's making in the process, a curse that nearly killed him outright last summer, and would have if he hadn't been saved by Severus Snape."

Scrimgeour cleared his throat. "I thought you reported that Snape was the one who murdered Dumbledore."

"As a witness to the action atop the Hogwarts Astronomy Tower, I thought that was what I was seeing, but I later learned it was in fact a staged event. Dumbledore was weak and slowly dying from the curse he had received last summer, and probably would have died by now regardless. Yet he had made Professor Snape promise to make a quick end of it if the situation required it. From what I understand, it is a rather complex story, and I am not the one to relate the details. Perhaps Professor Dumbledore's portrait at Hogwarts would corroborate. I have found it to be quite informative."

"Ah, yes, I'm sure you have," the minister mused. "I assume that this dark magic ritual of Tom Riddle is part of the detail you are withholding from your testimony?"

"Yes, sir. I really don't know a lot about it, only that it requires some of the vilest evil imaginable to enact. It's best left unspoken for now."

Scrimgeour nodded. "Understood; we shall discuss this afterward in my office. Please continue."

"Over the last year, Dumbledore passed along what he had learned to me, as I would have to complete the preliminary steps to defeat Tom after he was gone, and I was able to accomplish this since leaving school. I learned that Tom had plans to attack me this Saturday evening past, and that soon after he would attempt a takeover of the Ministry of Magic. I don't need to tell you what kind of chaos would result – a totalitarian regime where individual rights would be trampled, undesirables like me would be hunted down as traitors, institutions such as Hogwarts would be in his control, dark creatures doing his bidding – and once magical Britain was under his thumb, he would probably extend his influence to the continent, possibly even the Muggle world.

"Once I learned of his plans, how could I stand idly by and watch him do this, knowing that I could prevent it? I gathered some help, and formulated a plan of my own. I knew that Tom kidnapped Ollivander, torturing him to reveal a solution to the problem of our brother wands. I also knew that Tom had appropriated Lucius Malfoy's wand to get around that problem. From what little I know of wandlore, the wand chooses the wizard, not the other way round, so if I disarmed Mr. Malfoy, I could potentially acquire an additional advantage by gaining the allegiance of the wand that Tom would be using. It was an untested theory, but I wanted everything possible in my favor if I was to confront him, and I had no idea when I would get another chance. In the end, there really wasn't much to it. I did threaten him if he refused to call Tom through his mark so that I could confront him directly, but as Lucius was unarmed I merely stunned him and left him alone.

"When Tom arrived, we had words knowing that only one of us would be leaving the house alive. When I told him that all the dark magic he had so carefully constructed had been defeated, he used Lucius Malfoy's wand to attack me with the killing curse. Apparently all the protections I had accumulated allowed me to deflect it back upon him with a simple disarming charm, as you witnessed in the _Priori Incantatem._ In essence, he killed himself again. Permanently, this time."

"You are certain that you succeeded undoing all his rituals?"

"All the ones that kept him from dying, yes. After that was over I was attacked by Peter Pettigrew, who had been hiding somewhere nearby. I had to deal with him as well."

"Ah, then, were you responsible for his current physical condition?"

"If you are referring to his missing hand, yes, he originally cut it off himself as part of Tom's re-birthing ritual. Tom was generous enough to give him a magical replacement, but the thing was trying to kill him when he was dueling me. By removing his fake hand with the cutting spell, I actually spared his life. I preferred that justice be done properly with him, unlike what happened when he framed my godfather.

"I then found Mr. Ollivander alive in the basement and made sure he got to St. Mungo's for treatment."

I took a deep breath and stood firm, looking up at the stunned expressions on the faces in the court.

"Therefore, in response to the charges, yes, I did willfully enter Malfoy Mansion without an invitation – at first, anyway – and I did perform underage sorcery in defense of myself and in service to magical Britain, and I kept the wand that was used against me, which I leave as evidence, and I would do it again, sir, regardless of the repercussions.

"I plead guilty, and throw myself upon the mercy of the Wizengamot."

Scrimgeour stared thoughtfully at me while many others shifted on the benches behind him.

"You do realize," he said quietly, "that your testimony conflicts the current ministry position, and that some members of the public will call you a hero again, possibly even demanding an Order of Merlin for you."

"Sir, I desire no accolades, I get enough attention already to be going on with. I would be grateful to the ministry if my testimony was sealed and my involvement in Saturday's events remained unknown to the public. I am happy for the ministry to take credit for Tom's capture, and if I am found guilty, may my sentence be commuted, so I could get on with life – finishing school and looking for a career. A normal life is all I've ever wanted, sir."

"Very well, then." Scrimgeour passed his gaze over the witches and wizards around him. "Members of the Wizengamot, you have heard Mr. Potter's defense and plea. All in favor of clearing the accused of all charges?"

As one, a forest of hands raised into the air. I noticed a few that did not.

"All in favor of conviction?"

No one moved. The hard-core pure-bloods had decided to abstain.

"Congratulations, Mr. Potter, you are free to go. I would appreciate that meeting you promised in my office in one hour."

I could only nod in agreement. I hadn't been sure of it until then, and relief washed over me. Something else accompanied it, totally unexpected, and I was unable to respond, being unsure of my voice.

Most of the Wizengamot, the Aurors, even Minister Scrimgeour – they were applauding.

o o o

7.02

0930 TUESDAY MINISTRY OF MAGIC LONDON

The Minister of Magic amended his meeting request to include Ron and Hermione, probably because they were part of the planned hunt for the remaining pieces of Tom's soul. However, we had a more pressing problem with the news media. Hermione joined Ron and me in Mr. Weasley's office after my Wizengamot hearing while Ginny's job was to keep her dad distracted elsewhere in the ministry building.

Ron was gleefully displaying a glass jar.

"Where did you find her?" I insisted.

"Mad-Eye pointed her out to me early in the hearing; he spotted the bug on the side rail and figured out who she was." Ron held up the jar and peered at the large beetle buzzing furiously inside. "And by the time Harry made that diversion with Thicknesse – which was absolutely brilliant, by the way – I was in place and scooped her up with no one the wiser."

"That would explain Mad-Eye's giggling fit," I said thoughtfully. "Good thing you had my invisibility cloak."

"Wands out… now!" said Hermione, taking the jar and emptying it onto the floor. "I can't believe she'd try something like this again." She uttered the spell to force the beetle animagus back to human form.

Rita Skeeter stood before us, looking reasonably cowed but indignant. "Why, Harry Potter, what a surprise! And your little missy, too, and this is the fickle friend that snubbed you, right?"

"Once again, Rita," I replied in an even tone, "your facts are hardly that. I gave you a warning that you seem to be ignoring."

"Well," she simpered, "you can hardly blame me for going after the biggest scoop of the year. Can't you just see it – 'Boy Who Lived Saves World, All in a Day's Work!' And my editors will pay a king's ransom for the details of just how you pulled it off, Harry! I just need the right photo to go with…"

"Another thing that's not going to happen. I told you to stop bugging me, which you haven't done, and then you have the nerve to collect that insidious rumor rehash about Professor Dumbledore into what you call a biography. You know, Rita, you're a very talented writer. It's too bad that you never learned how to be a proper reporter."

"I'll have you know…"

"I don't want to hear it, Rita, and we're about to be late for our appointment with the minister. Hermione, you know what to do."

"Oh, yes! I've never actually done a memory charm before," she smiled as she aimed her wand at Rita's horrified face, "but I know the theory well enough…

" _Obliviate_."

o o o

7.03

1000 TUESDAY MINISTRY OF MAGIC LONDON

"Ah, Harry Potter," Rufus Scrimgeour said, shaking my hand, "so good of you to collect your friends on such short notice. I know you have a busy day planned, birthday celebrations and all, so I don't want to keep you any longer than absolutely necessary, but we have much to discuss, yes, much to discuss. Please, sit down."

The minister motioned us to a table. He was being suspiciously friendly, meaning he wanted something. I knew why we were here – at least I thought I did, and the false pleasantries seemed unnecessary. I glanced over at Kingsley Shacklebolt, who I had asked to make some excuse to attend. Hopefully his calming presence would keep tempers under control. There were two others in the office that I recognized as the two Unspeakables at my hearing, but they were sitting in a corner apparently waiting for our meeting to conclude. Scrimgeour ignored them.

He clapped me on the shoulder. "Fine job this morning, son. You made quite an impression, I must say, and I have no doubt that Dumbledore would be extremely proud, had he been here to see you."

"Thank you, sir."

"Speaking of your old headmaster, you may be surprised to know that the three of you were all mentioned in his will. Most of his estate he left to Hogwarts, of course, only a few personal bequests, and you three the only students out of thousands he taught over the years. Of course, I suspect that he intended these items to be needed during your work to defeat Tom Riddle, so I won't dawdle."

I purposefully hadn't told Ron or Hermione much about what to expect, and Ron seemed to be curious but wary, while Hermione kept glancing nervously at the two strangers in the corner.

Scrimgeour grabbed a roll of parchment from his desk along with a drawstring pouch. Reading the anticipated bequests from Dumbledore's will, he handed to Ron the headmaster's Deluminator and to Hermione the ancient book that was an original _Tales of Beedle the Bard_. "Those are quite valuable items, both of you, so I would take great care with them."

He turned to me, his expression darkening. "Now, Potter, we both know what he left you, don't we? And we know that Gryffindor's sword is not yours for the taking, but you've already borrowed it, haven't you? And we both know what's inside this snitch, don't we?"

My hand had risen automatically, and Scrimgeour placed the little winged ball from my very first Quidditch match in my palm, forcing my fingers to grasp it. I could only stare blankly, dumbfounded. _How…_?

"And you are no doubt wondering how I know all this? Why, the same way you discovered it, Potter, by reading this most interesting story…"

From out of nowhere he produced a huge, hand-bound volume containing hundreds of pages of parchment and dropped it onto the table, deliberately creating a loud _thwack_ that made us all jump. Stamped in fancy gold leaf on the leather cover was simply a large number 7.

"No…" I breathed.

"Yes, Potter, open it."

I obeyed reluctantly, the cover a gateway to my worst nightmares, and read the title page of the book, _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_.

o


	8. Manipulations & Speculations

**A/N:** Finally, Harry gets some answers, but alas, more questions as well.

* * *

 **8\. Manipulations and Speculations**

o o o

8.01

1010 TUESDAY MINISTRY OF MAGIC LONDON

The title of the large leather bound book stared at me, defiant in the impossibility of its very existence.

"Harry?" squeaked Hermione, reading over my shoulder.

My blood felt like ice as I quickly turned through the pages of neatly inked parchment. It was all there – the escape from Surrey, the wedding at the Burrow, the frustrating months of endless searching for the pieces of Tom's soul – and the story of the Hallows.

Beside Hermione, Ron looked up, bewildered. "Is this what I think it is?"

I shook my head in disbelief. "It's what happens… this summer until next May… in the other timeline."

"Yes," Scrimgeour crowed, "fascinating stuff, how you three manage to elude He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, breaking all sorts of laws in the process, using Unforgivables, breaking into the Ministry of Magic and Gringotts…"

"We break into Gringotts bank?" Ron said, incredulous.

"Yeah, we convince a rogue goblin to help us sneak in to get the cup. Unfortunately, we're discovered and we make quite a scene, busting out on the back of a dragon…"

"A _stolen_ dragon, Potter!" Scrimgeour was enjoying this far too much. Even Kingsley appeared to be smirking slightly.

"Wicked…" whispered Ron, as Hermione could only gape in astonishment – scandalized, no doubt.

"And it follows with a huge battle at Hogwarts with Tom dead but lots of others as well. Wouldn't you agree, Minister," I challenged, "that desperate times require desperate measures? Besides, none of this will ever happen now; it's all fiction, a fairy tale."

"Ah, you're right, Potter, except now we know that the Deathly Hallows are no fairy tale!"

"The Deathly Hallows?" questioned Hermione. "Harry, what is he talking about?"

I sighed heavily. "Pick up your book of Beedle the Bard, Hermione, and read 'The Tale of the Three Brothers.'"

"Hey, I know that story!" Ron exclaimed.

"I know you do, Ron, just listen while she reads it."

After a moment of careful thumbing through the fragile little book, Hermione began to recite the tale of the three brothers who cheated Death by building a bridge to cross a river, were each granted a gift and tried to outsmart him – one by demanding an all-powerful wand, the second by getting a stone that could bring someone back from the dead, and the third – wisely asking only to hide from Death – received Death's own Cloak of Invisibility. The first brother died violently, the second went mad, and only the third was successful in leading a long life, and when he was ready to meet Death, it was on his own terms, as an equal.

She finished and looked up with a frown. "This is just a children's object lesson, right?"

"Apparently there's more to it than that," I muttered. "The three brothers were named Peverell and really existed, and they each had a powerful magical item that fit the story's description. According to legend, whoever united the three items would become Master of Death. You've probably heard of the Elder Wand as the Deathstick or Wand of Destiny; its ownership is frequently transferred through violent duels that are recorded throughout history. It was Grindelwald's until Dumbledore defeated him, and Dumbledore used it from then on. He was buried with it. The Resurrection Stone, as it became known, became part of the Gaunt family ring; they were probably descended from the second brother."

"That ring that cursed Dumbledore?"

"That's the one, and now it supposedly resides inside my snitch." I held it up as she regarded it with skepticism.

"The third brother was an ancestor of mine. His cloak was handed down from father to son, eventually to my dad…"

"Your cloak belonged to Death himself?" Ron exclaimed in horror.

"Dumbledore thought that the presence of Death personified may have been an embellishment of the story, but the artifacts are definitely real."

"Dumbledore told you of these?" asked Hermione.

"Not personally, no, but he does in here," I said, indicating the book.

"And Dumbledore thought you were the better man to become Master of Death, didn't he, Potter?" Scrimgeour was dangerously quiet now. "Saturday night, you disarmed Draco Malfoy, didn't you, Potter? Made sure you were master of the Elder Wand, knowing you already had the cloak and were going to be receiving the stone, right? Well, Potter?"

I stared levelly at him. "You've got it all figured out, I see."

"Yes, this book has been most enlightening, Potter."

"Then you should also be aware that had I not acted you would be dead by tomorrow night, Minister, and the British magical world would be in a death spiral for months. Surely you can see –"

"Of course I can see, boy, I am not that greed-blinded fool Fudge. I gave you everything you asked for in court today – some highly unusual requests, I might add – because I knew what might happen otherwise. If not for this book, at this moment you might well be playing gobstones with the dementors of Azkaban."

I glared at him with contempt, then glanced at the table and the pages documenting events that I had read about a decade from now and a lifetime away. _A decade from now..._

"I… where… How did you get this book?" I finally demanded.

"My guests would be better able to answer that. Gentlemen?"

The two strangers stood and stepped forward. The older one with gray robes had a full head of white hair and a goatee; his slightly pear-shaped body spoke of many years at a desk. The other in maroon was tall and slim with sandy hair, probably no more than thirty. He appeared ill at ease, his eyes downcast.

"This is Donald Terwilliger, an Unspeakable from our Department of Mysteries…" At least I was correct about his occupation.

The older man held out his hand and shook hands with each of us. "Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, so pleased to meet you. Mr. Potter, it is so very good to see you again, and congratulations on your success."

"Erm… have we met before?"

He glanced around nervously. "You… no one has told you?"

Statements like that always meant trouble. "Told me what, exactly, Mr. Terwilliger?"

"Oh, dear, I wasn't expecting… Minister Scrimgeour?"

Scrimgeour didn't seem to notice our exchange. "And this is his American counterpart – a sleep agent in their Department of Magic…"

The younger man finally looked up. "That's _undercover_ agent…" he muttered wryly.

"Yes, whatever – John Wilson has been most helpful in this entire operation, and made it possible for us to recover this valuable information from the future."

Something about this John Wilson tugged at the back of my brain, but I couldn't manage to bring it forward. I took the proffered hand and gave him an appraising look.

"So… Agent Wilson, how many others know about what's in that book? Or the earlier books?"

"As I am working on a joint operation between our two magical departments, I've given a preliminary report to a select committee from each. They have been given strict warnings about information regarding soul mutilation and are taking it very seriously. A task force is beginning a worldwide search for all published references, most of which only mention the ritual without specifics. Works that provide any sort of instruction will be immediately confiscated and pertinent parts destroyed. It will take some time, of course…"

"Of course… right. Sounds like you have that covered." I hadn't thought beyond keeping the current situation secret. "And the Muggle stories? Do you have some sort of contingency plan for when those become public knowledge?"

"That is still being discussed," said Unspeakable Terwilliger, "but the prevailing opinion is that most will consider these books as fantasy, an impossibility to cheat death in this fashion. We are aided by the facts that murder of an innocent is the only part of the ritual mentioned and the fictitious name of 'Horcrux' will frustrate any who try to seek the missing portions."

"But will it be enough?"

Terwilliger shook his head. "We cannot know for certain. However, we do have some time to prepare and take a more definitive course."

"What about the Hallows? Who knows that they have been located?"

"Those same committees received a separate report," Agent Wilson responded. "They saw little need for secrecy as the items were already generally known, and the reports were forwarded to several magical research organizations to gauge the level of interest. Your Royal Academy of Magic has been particularly emphatic about wanting to study them."

"Well, they can't," I insisted. "These things should have been left to fade into the fog of legend. Didn't you listen to the Bard? The wand and the stone are both the products of arrogance and folly. They are too dangerous and too great a temptation. If I had my way, they would disappear permanently. And the cloak is a family heirloom, therefore private property and no business of others."

"Getting a little possessive, are you, Potter?" Scrimgeour cackled. "Feeling a little of that temptation, just as Dumbledore did? Trying to play God, are you, boy?"

At this I had to laugh. "That's really funny, minister, because I rather thought I was trying to prevent some other fool playing God. And if you really read those seven books, you would know enough not to ask that question."

"He hasn't had the chance just yet," interjected the older Unspeakable. "We started our transcription at the seventh book, of course, wanting to know what was coming, and we will be working backwards through the set. The volume from your sixth year should be finished this afternoon, at which time we will start on the fifth year volume."

"But," I asked him, "how did you manage it? This book won't be published for another ten years, and it describes things that haven't happened yet in this timeline or its own."

"Pensieve memories, Harry," clarified Agent Wilson. "I read each volume out loud in that timeline, then when my memories jumped back the decade, I simply dropped that memory into a pensieve down in the Department of Mysteries and a dictation quill automatically records it onto parchment as the memory recites. A little time-consuming, but it gets the job done."

 _That_ timeline… memories _jumped back the decade_ …

"Hold on! Are you telling me you were _there_? The other timeline?"

"Oh… yes, of course, but… I suppose there's no easy way except to just say it. Harry, or Jimmy as it were, I was Wiley."

If my jaw could stretch to the floor, it would have. In my other life, Wiley Johnson was my next door neighbor as a youth and a friendly thorn in my side for years, a favor I returned whenever I could.

"Right – if you're Wiley, who told us to join the army?"

He laughed. "That was your dad. Said you didn't have the discipline to be a stock car driver if you couldn't avoid the trees on the side of the road. Instead you became a helicopter pilot, went to war and came home with medals across your chest."

"Don't forget the shrapnel in my knee and my bum in a wheelchair. It's really you, isn't it? You couldn't resist adding that last bit?"

"Helicopters?" "Medals?" Hermione and Ron had yet to hear any of my other life.

John – or Wiley – spoke before I could stop him. "Oh, yeah, he was something else in the air. Saved our ass more times than I could count."

I shrugged. "What can I say? I like to fly… but how did you get here? How did _I_ get here?"

"Donald, you need to give him the letter."

"Ah, yes, I knew I was forgetting something!"

A folded parchment was placed in my hands. A familiar looping script flowed across:

 _To Harry Potter_

I nervously opened the letter and began to read.

 _My dear Harry_

 _The fact that you are reading this means that my fears of leaving this world prior to the completion of our mission were well founded. A friend of mine in the Department of Mysteries has access to that commodity that I, through my own foolishness, was unable to give you. I asked him that should I predecease our adversary, he would use the means at his disposal to make time available to you, that you would learn what I was unable to teach. As I understand it, it is proxy magic that cannot harm you personally should it fail, but is extremely limited in its flexibility – exactly ten years, no more, no less. I trust that your detour will be enjoyable as well as enlightening. I have faith in you, Harry, and encourage you to have faith in yourself... and the power within. Godspeed._

 _Yours always,_

 _A.D._

I took a moment to breathe before addressing the Unspeakable. "And just what is 'proxy magic,' or is that privileged information?"

He scratched his goatee. "Yes, it is a tightly controlled secret for obvious reasons, but I can tell you, as I did before, that by proxy it means that your physical self does not make the trip through time. In this case, a substitute was established with its own memory set, and although it carried none of your personal memory, it was essentially you, and returned to you at the expiration of the decade, rejoining your existing memory. If for some reason your substitute self was unable to complete the decade, your original self suffered no harm. We had several Unspeakables positioned around the globe looking for potential Muggle host candidates and found two American boys at the proper age, friends who were essentially both brain-dead from the same automobile accident."

I stared, aghast. "I was _brain-dead_ after the accident?"

"How much do you remember of Jimmy's life before that night?"

It was true; I had always wondered why I had some kind of amnesia regarding my younger years. Wiley had some of the same symptoms, now that I thought about it.

"Our healers were able to bring back partial memories from the host, enough to be going on with, but as a new procedure, our candidates had to be relatively open mentally."

This was a blow from a totally unexpected direction, and my mind was in overdrive trying to process what I had just heard – "Hold on, you said you told me this before – what are you talking about?"

Unspeakable Terwilliger looked somewhat abashed. "I called on you at your relatives' home. Don't worry, they retained no knowledge of my visit. I discussed all this with you at length, and I must say that you were quite enthused about it after I showed you the letter from your late headmaster. Unfortunately, you are not an unspeakable, therefore policy dictated that your memories of our meeting had to be removed as well. You did sign the requisite forms."

I turned to Shacklebolt, who still seemed to be enjoying the unfolding events more than he should. "Can they do that? Get me to sign a form and _Obliviate_ my memories of doing so?"

He raised his eyebrows. "They can if you signed the forms saying they can."

"Bloody bureaucratic bastards," I muttered.

"I can understand your indignation, Mr. Potter" said the Unspeakable. "However, you did agree to participate in the ritual after it was explained to you. And it was approved by the Supreme Mugwump himself. I believe Albus thought it a perfect fail-safe, as it is very low risk, and its success here is unquestionable."

Unquestionable indeed. More like unbelievable. Just when I was coming to grips with something Dumbledore had done, I find that there was yet another huge thing he had kept from me. I had to spend a decade ignorant of magic with my hateful relatives, then again as a young adult. I wished someone would confer with me when I am being used for the greater good, and let me remember the conversation afterward.

o o o

8.02

1930 TUESDAY OTTERY ST CATCHPOLE DEVON

"And then after taking out both Thicknesse and Umbridge, hero-boy gets the Minister madder than a rampaging cockatrice when he finds out who put Moldy in his place; he then tells the entire Wizengamot that the pure-blood bigots are all victims of the biggest prank ever – a half-blood Lording it over them!"

I could do with less "hero" references, but my birthday guests found Tonks' version of the hearing much more entertaining than mine, which had been a rather brief, "I got off…"

"Old Moldywarts a prankster? You-Know- _Who_ would've thought?" said Fred (I think), before attacking his third slice of cake – the one which started off as a marvelously detailed and enticingly edible snitch, but now looked like, well, a half-eaten cake.

"We could have hired him as a consultant for those backfiring wands," replied the other, probably George.

"Or nasty stains that last forever."

"Or a new line of snake-related products, in case any other Slytherins develop a sense of humor."

They looked at each other for a moment.

"Nah, never happen…"

"Definite money loser, that one…"

The birthday dinner was a relaxed affair in the garden of the Burrow with the Weasleys and Delacours along with a few Order members. And there was also a bloke who enjoyed embarrassing me with stories about my other life as Harry/not Harry.

"We wouldn't have won our district senior year if it hadn't been for Harry catching the football so well," related Agent Wilson, aka Wiley.

"Dean Thomas said you weren't supposed to catch the ball…"

"No, Ron," I interrupted, "this is American football, an entirely different game. It's a misnomer because only occasionally do you actually kick the ball, mostly it's carried or thrown. It's a little like Quidditch without flying in that the ball is about the same as a quaffle but more pointed, and the players all act like human bludgers, since part of the strategy is to knock each other to the ground. And when a 16 stone linebacker running full tilt slams into you head-first with that helmet, it feels just like a bludger, too."

"Sounds like fun!" the twins agreed. "Where do we sign up?"

But eventually they wanted to know about my war experience, and if I got those medals then, how come I was trying to avoid getting an Order of Merlin, or even that I had any involvement in Voldemort's demise.

I hated discussions like this, but I had to say something. "I signed up to be a professional soldier because it seemed like the thing to do, defend your country and all that, and that's heroic stuff to folks back home who like the safety and freedom that security allows. I only got those medals because I got hurt doing my job and getting my crew to safety, not because I wanted them. It's not that I wasn't appreciative, but there were lots of heroes still fighting, doing their job, that didn't get those medals.

"But here we've got people doing heroic things all the time – Aurors, healers, and the like, all doing it because it's part of their job. Ron, Hermione, how many times did we save each other during first year alone? Yeah, it was good to get house points, but that sure wasn't why we did it.

"Everyone seems to think I'm something special because of what my mum did, and I can never thank her for that, except to live as best I can, that it was worth it somehow. But she didn't do it for any award, either. Don't you guys think that if the roles were reversed, that your mum wouldn't give her life for you? You know she would! You think I have to be a really powerful wizard to beat Tom, don't you? Well, I thought I did, and after Dumbledore couldn't beat him, how in bloody hell was I supposed to? The only thing that kept me from going totally nutters was the fact that I trusted Dumbledore to find a way.

"I discovered it wasn't about fighting more skillfully with more powerful spells. David beat Goliath with a single stone and a lot of faith, and because no one thought he could. That usually means a higher power is involved. It was like that for me – the power of a mother's love, a healthy dose of elf magic, and the faith to not turn tail – that's how little things can overcome powerful things. But I only did it because it was my lot, my obligation to the fates, and I just wanted to get it over with. But I didn't do it alone; Dobby won't get any awards and wouldn't take them even if they were offered, so I don't want one either."

Everyone looked at me as if I had bubotuber pus covering my face. Trust me, I know the look. Is there something wrong with just wanting to be a normal guy?

After everything had wound slowly down and the guests were finally gone, Ron, Hermione, Ginny and I were still sitting at the lantern-lit table discussing strategy: what should I do about the Royal Academy of Magic and the Deathly Hallows. As much as I would like to, I couldn't put them off forever.

"I'm not sure if I can even get to the stone, anyway. It's locked inside the snitch, and according to the book I wasn't able to open it until I thought I was about to die. That's what the inscription meant."

"What inscription?"

"It shows when I touch the snitch to my mouth. Remember, this is the one I nearly swallowed?"

I reached into my wonderful new mokeskin pouch – birthday gift from Hagrid – and withdrew the slowly fluttering golden ball, pressing it to my lips. An inscription appeared, but it was not the one I was expecting.

"It's different," I gasped. "What did you do, Dumbledore?"

I held it up so the light caught it, and I read out loud, " _I unwind and parte at a word, To where mourning ne'er is heard._ He's given me yet another infuriating riddle…"

Hermione was in her element with a fresh puzzle to solve. She took the riddle apart word by word, explaining the etymology that might be hiding some possible obscure meaning.

We spent at least half an hour floating several theories about, getting slightly crazier with each new idea but not making any real progress. I finally noticed that my girlfriend had gotten very quiet.

"Ginny?" I whispered.

The others also looked at her with concern. She had a blank far-away stare on her face, and her voice came as a toneless escape of breath.

"I know what it means."

o


	9. Vows & Expectations

**9.a A/N:** As this little tale nears its end, there's a wedding to attend, and Harry is forced to make plans for the Hallows.

* * *

 **9\. Vows and Expectations**

o o o

9.01

0730 WEDNESDAY OTTERY ST CATCHPOLE DEVON

"Bonjour, Harree!" A kiss on my right cheek was followed by an energetic blonde ten-year-old bouncing into the chair next to mine.

"And good morning to you, Gabrielle," I said with amusement. "You seem quite excited today."

"Of course," she chirped, "ma sœur ees getting married! I cannot wait!"

"And neither can I," came a tired voice to my left. I turned my head just in time to get a quick peck on my lips from a tangled mass of red hair.

"Ah, good morning to you as well, my love!" I had to hold back a chortle as Ginny, unconcerned about her significant case of bed-head, slipped into the seat on my other side. "Sleep well?"

"Eventually," she muttered. "Miss Enthusiasm over there finally ran out of energy sometime in the wee hours. Is there coffee yet?"

"I think I could use some as well," said Hermione, sitting opposite Ginny. "And no, Harry, I'm not giving you a good-morning kiss. I'm too tired to reach that far."

I faked a pout as I helped Mrs. Weasley get the newcomers situated with breakfast. I had been up for nearly an hour and we had a nice chat while working together on the food. I could understand Ginny and Hermione's reactions to Gabrielle; she seemed to go non-stop and drive us all to exhaustion, but she was very sweet about it and cute as a button, so we all tolerated her.

I was also thankful that there were no after-effects of the Triwizard Tournament, rescuing Fleur's little sister from the Black Lake. Several of my Muggle friends in my other life seemed to think that some sort of soul bond might be possible from such a heroic act. When I mentioned this to Hermione, she scoffed at Muggles' "complete misunderstanding how magic works." When I asked about life debts, she got a little more serious, saying that I could claim a life debt from at least half of the individuals at the Burrow if necessary. I mentioned what happened to Pettigrew and she commented that they weren't about to cause me any intentional harm, so I finally got her point, at least I think I did. Life debts only mattered between adversaries.

The rest of the Weasleys and Delacours made their way to the table and I became aware that all these people would also be bound to me as family – assuming I still ended up married to Ginny. That one-time monster in my chest was now purring like a fully grown lion, and my heart felt full to bursting. It did bring up an odd question – what does one call the family of the spouse of the sibling of one's spouse? Are they in-laws too? In-law in-laws? Out-laws? Gabrielle already seemed to adopt me as a favorite big brother, and whatever we eventually called it, I was OK with that.

Eventually, excuses were made about preparations still needing to be done and most of the family began to leave the expanded table. The bride-to-be, however, sat down across from me, a shadow of concern on her normally radiant face.

"Harry," Fleur said with barely an accent, "this book you read, it mentions the wedding today, yes?"

"It does," I replied, "and according to it, everything goes fine until the Ministry take-over later in the night, which we know won't happen now. In the ceremony, it says you look beautiful, so much that you cast some sort of spell around you that everyone else glows in your brilliance."

Fleur's eyes shown with the news. "So I can marry my Bill with no worries?"

"That's right. You get hitched without a hitch."

She looked confused. "Hitched?"

Ginny, somewhat alive again, giggled at my awful pun while Hermione slapped the back of my head.

"What the idiot with the idioms is trying to say is that you will get married with no problems."

"Ow, Hermione, you could've just told her that without hitting me."

"No," she declared, "for a comment like that, you needed _pun_ -ishment."

While the others laughed, I felt the need for some payback. "Hey, Fleur, did you really invite Victor Krum?"

"Oui, we stay in touch, why would I not?"

Hermione was suddenly the deer in the oncoming headlights. "Victor is coming? Today?"

Too bad Ron hadn't made it down yet.

o o o

9.02

1500 WEDNESDAY OTTERY ST CATCHPOLE DEVON

The great white marquee stood in the orchard behind Fred, George, Ron and I as we awaited the arrival of wedding guests. I was extremely grateful to be here as myself, not under the effects of Polyjuice Potion posing as a curly redhead to be called "Cousin Barny." I mentioned this to my companions.

"That's quite alright, our brother from another mother," said Fred (I think). "There will be no shortage of redheads in attendance today."

"Mum invited all of the Weasleys we know, and that's quite a few," returned the other twin.

"Yet she can't stop blubbering over Percy's lack of response."

"Who needs the git anyway?" grumbled Ron. "He was at Harry's trial, so he knows the truth."

"Water under the bridge, I say, now I see a few veela cousins approaching."

And thus began the twins' competition to find favor with the attractive young French ladies as Ron and I laughed at their antics. I spotted Hagrid approaching and went to personally direct him to the appropriately built chair to avoid the embarrassment of him destroying some of the less sturdy seats.

Shortly afterwards, I escorted Luna Lovegood and her father, both dressed in garish yellow – for luck, she assured me – discussing the wisdom of garden gnomes. As expected, he sported the symbol of the Hallows around his neck. It reminded me that I needed to speak to a certain Bulgarian quidditch player before he went off his nut about it.

When I returned to the entrance, an elderly witch on Ron's arm was disparaging his hair length and saying that Mr. Lovegood looked like an omelet, which I found quite funny, given that she was dressed all in feathery pink. What did the book call her? Oh, yes, a bad-tempered flamingo!

"And where is that Potter boy you were supposed to be friends with, or were you just boasting?"

Ron seemed quite relieved to see me again. "Oh, here he is now. Auntie Muriel, this is Harry Potter."

I took her hand and bowed over it. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, ma'am."

She nodded. "Decent enough manners for an orphan – I doubt you learned that from this lot. I heard you escaped consequences yet again for one of your episodes of trouble-making. Is that what you get up to with my nephew?"

Ron was about to interrupt on my behalf, but I waved him off. "Oh, you know how it is, young boys with not enough to keep them occupied, reckless trouble-making just calls out to them. It's all part of our plot to cause chaos and mayhem throughout the magical world, right, Ron?"

My best mate was now making a wonderful fish impression, yet Auntie Muriel was the one who took the bait. "I knew it! Albus was supposed to training you up to be some kind of hero, and we now see where his efforts took you!"

Secretly tickled, I waved off and left Muriel fuming about the failures of my generation. Fact or fiction were irrelevant when trading gossip, and the more outlandish her claims seemed to her next victim, the less believable she would be. Of course, I could be the next burgeoning Dark Lord by the end of the week, but that would be nothing new.

We continued to seat the guests, until just before it was time for the bride to arrive, a familiar face tried to ease himself into the tent without notice.

"Hello, Percy," I said, grabbing his hand. "I'm glad you could make it. Your family will be pleased."

He seemed anything but pleased. "I'm sorry about all the trouble," he stammered. "I didn't know –"

"No problem," I said. "We can talk later. Sit back here if you want, or join the family up front."

He looked around, uncertain.

"Whatever you decide," I continued, "you're doing the right thing by coming. Trust me." I left him and made my way forward to the second row, sliding in beside Ron and Hermione.

The ceremony was even more beautiful than I had read – the ethereal glow of the bride and the incredible special effects throughout – but it was the fiery-headed bridesmaid in the golden gown that kept most of my attention. She also enjoyed messing with Auntie Muriel, taking the old crone's insults as a compliment, and I returned her saucy wink with a joyful grin and a thumbs-up.

After the ceremony came the transition to dinner around the dancefloor, and we avoided Muriel by sitting with Luna at the only available table on the far side of the tent. At one point I noticed Elphias Doge sitting alone, and I excused myself to thank him for his work on Dumbledore's eulogy in the _Daily Prophet_.

By the time I returned, Auntie Muriel was at our table with champagne in hand, obviously having had several already, giving my girlfriend a piece of her mind.

"...and I know about those boys you've been out with, questionable backgrounds each one, and I think you need to do better, Ginevra. As one of my few nieces, you need to cultivate a relationship with a proper wizard from a respected family, to bring some decency into the next generation, or Merlin knows what will become of our society."

Ginny winked again at me as I wandered in behind the bigoted old woman. "Auntie, I wonder, what do you think of Lord Black?" she contemplated dramatically. "Would he be acceptable for a courtship arrangement?"

"Oh, the Blacks were always at the pinnacle of society, a few bad eggs they had, but those are all locked away or given the heave-ho. I'm certain the current head would be better than the miscreants that your brothers get on with. Much too influenced by that fool Dumbledore. Who is Lord Black now, anyway?"

That was my cue, and I swooped in for the kill. "Why, that would be me, Auntie Muriel; I'm so glad you approve. Ginevra, my love," I said while she rolled her eyes, "I think our first son should be named after my father and my godfather – trouble-makers extraordinaire, you know – but our second son could be named Albus, I reckon, after our dear departed headmaster. What do you think?"

Muriel was on the verge of throwing a wobbly while the others were spewing their butterbeer across the table. Ginny, however, was putting her best effort into keeping a straight face.

"Why, I think that's a lovely idea."

"Splendid! My I have this dance?"

"Of course, I thought you'd never ask!"

And we twirled across the dance floor, celebrating our triumphs over meddlesome old bints, nasty reporters and demented dark lords.

I hoped the night would never end, but the party did wind down eventually. I was taking a break at the food table when I was approached by Hogwarts' new Headmistress.

"Harry," Minerva McGonagall said in an unusually tender voice, "I would like for you and Hermione to come tomorrow to my office. We find ourselves without a Muggle Studies teacher, and I would love to hear your thoughts on our program going forward."

"Of course, Headmistress," I said. "I would be glad to. Is nine too soon?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Time is of the essence, so if you can make it that early, I will be waiting with the floo open."

I nodded, "No problem, Professor. Anything you need."

She gave me a warm goodbye and I headed back to where Ginny waited to catch one last dance.

She wrapped her arms around my neck and lay her head on my chest as we swayed to the beat.

"Our second son will _not_ be named after any greasy former potions masters, got that, Potter?"

I chuckled while kissing her forehead. "Anything you say, love, anything you say."

o o o

9.03

0900 THURSDAY HOGWARTS CASTLE

I shot out of the floo in the Headmistress's office, barely keeping my feet. I might actually get the hang of this bizarre method of travel one day. Hermione stepped out more gracefully, and we brushed the soot off each other.

"Good morning, and welcome to you both," stated Minerva McGonagall as she rose from the large desk that had once been Dumbledore's. Most of his crazy little mechanical devices and other decor had been removed, in favor of a much more reserved style. "Would you care for some tea?"

Hermione and I agreed, and the three of us settled into chairs and exchanged pleasantries for several minutes.

"I must confess," McGonagall finally admitted, "that the Muggle Studies program was not the only reason I asked you both here today. I need to appoint next year's Head Boy and Head Girl, and I can think of no better choice than the two of you."

"Oh, my!" Hermione gasped in wide-eyed surprise, hand rising to her mouth to probably combat a shriek of jubilation. I don't know why she thought it would be anyone else.

For myself, I gaped in astonishment before mentioning the obvious. "But, Professor, I was never a prefect."

"Neither was your father," she replied with a smile, anticipating my protest, "and it did not provide any difficulties for him. In your situation, do you really think that your leadership in this school would be questioned by any other student, even if I did appoint someone else as Head Boy?"

I had to admit, she made a very convincing argument.

"If I accept," I reasoned, "would you have some time available to get me up to speed on expectations, responsibilities and the like?"

"Of course," she said, "I would be –"

She stopped, startled, as Dobby popped into our midst, wringing his hands in agitation.

"Dobby!" I said, "What's going on?"

"Dobby is so sorry to interrupt Master Harry Potter's meeting with Professor, but someone comes towards old Professor's resting place."

"Dumbledore's tomb?" I asked. I had asked Dobby to set some perimeter enchantments so that we would be able to tell if anyone approached the tomb, possibly trying to steal the Elder Wand. "Do you know who it is?"

"No, Master Harry Potter sir, they is being under the ground."

"I doubt they're coming to pay their respects if they feel the need to tunnel up to it." I surveyed my companions; it would be good to have extra wands on hand. "Dobby, can you take all three of us?"

"Yes, they just needs to hold Dobby's hand."

We each quickly held on and suddenly found ourselves on the lawn below the castle, facing the marble tomb and the still waters of the Black Lake. The calm serenity of the scene was in direct contrast to my emotions.

" _Homenum Revelio,_ " I whispered, waving my wand past the tomb.

A ghostly light hovered above the ground about 20 feet to the right of the stone crypt. Much too close.

"Hurry, Harry," exclaimed Hermione, "they will know you used that spell on them."

Right, there's a swooshing feeling or something like that. I jogged to the spot and used an excavation spell, creating my own tunnel straight down. As the dirt went flying, Hermione and McGonagall flanked me with their own wands drawn.

A few seconds later, a human adult male was extracted from the brand new hole and fell on the ground, spluttering from the dust.

" _Expelliarmus!_ " I cried, and his wand flew into my hands. "Identify yourself!"

"I'm sorry, Harry," he coughed. It was my former childhood friend, my crew chief in the army, fellow time traveller turned undercover agent. "I hoped you'd understand," he continued, covered in earth, "but my superiors…"

"Are not my superiors, Wiley, or John, or whoever you are. I thought I knew you, but you were just there to keep an eye on me, weren't you?"

"Harry, it's not like that…"

"Oh, tell it to the giant squid."

He only screamed on the way up from my banishing spell. He appeared to be attempting to vanish a few extra items before splashing into the middle of the lake.

"Mr. Potter, I hope you have not put him in mortal danger."

"No, professor, he swam competitively in his other life – it's like riding a bicycle, you never forget how to do it. One thing is certain, we cannot allow this sort of thing to happen again. Hermione, could you ask Professor Flitwick if he knows any charms that will summon a wand through solid stone?" I stared at the tomb as I spoke, not wanting to disturb Dumbledore's body if I didn't have to.

"Oh, of course!" she exclaimed. "If he doesn't, I'm sure we can look something up!"

Dobby volunteered to escort her there, and they popped away to see the charms master.

I turned to face the Headmistress. "Professor, while we're alone, there is another matter I've been meaning to discuss with you, and I'm afraid it can't wait any longer…"

o

 **9.b** _Some readers have been wondering about Proxy Magic and why the chosen hosts were Americans. I created a backstory, summarized below, that is in-universe except for my parenthetical comments._

Jimmy and Wiley were two friends that grew up in the Piedmont region of North Carolina (I have relatives there, so I am not unfamiliar with the area) where stock car racing is a favorite sport and would have been a natural attraction for the boys. Jimmy, son of a small-town police officer, liked the more exciting parts of life – contact sports, auto racing, a little underage imbibing – and paid the price when he wrapped his car around a tree one night; his best friend and passenger, Wiley, suffering the same fate. They would never have recovered from their head injuries without intervention from the magical world. The British Unspeakables had been looking in other English-speaking countries for suitable host candidates (I picked Americans because I didn't have to research a place I'd never been). The closer the host's personality is to the 'mark' or traveller, the easier the ritual will take hold. Harry's passion for adventure and recklessness seemed to be a decent fit with Jimmy, who – despite the one episode of drunk driving – also had a "saving people thing." Jimmy's subsequent career as an army helicopter pilot was a natural consequence of having a bit of Harry onboard.

With a Time Turner, the traveller was pushed backwards into a time frame that had already existed, requiring great expenditures of magic to enact for even a short period. On the other hand, Proxy Magic allowed two separate yet connected aspects of the same individual to live on into the future normally. At the end of the decade, the two aspects were reunited at a time in their own past, just after they were divided. So they carried memories of a future they participated in, but for which they held no liability. It was this disconnect – and the formation of separate timelines – that made the long-term ritual feasible.

Jimmy, unlike Wiley, was not allowed any knowledge of his previous life due to Harry's minority at the time of the ritual. At the end of the decade, Jimmy was expected to retain all the accumulated memories but would likely experience a sense of loss at the departure of the aspect of Harry that had been present with him. However, the Department of Mysteries has had very few subjects to study the after-effects of the ritual. They were not overly concerned because, after all, there was plenty of time to work out solutions.

As for the _why_ of Proxy Magic, Dumbledore had reached a decision during the summer after Harry and his friends battled Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries. His failure to notice the curse on the Gaunt ring caused him to realize that his remaining time on Earth had become very short, too short to teach Harry everything he really needed to know. He met with the Unspeakables, who were trying to repair the damages from the battle, including their entire stock of time turners. In their discussion, the unproven ritual creating Proxy Magic was given priority to study, test and finalize prior to Harry's seventeenth birthday. Dumbledore anticipated that there would be an opportunity to gain an advantage – _if one had prior knowledge._

During the Unspeakables' tests, ritual returnees reported a potential source for information, the Muggle versions of Harry Potter's story. Never content to rely on a single plan, Dumbledore had been responsible for these as well, having borrowed young Hermione Granger's detailed journals every year – with her permission, although she had no idea with whom they would be shared – and embellished with bits of information outside of her knowledge. He found a promising young Muggle writer who thought the story ideas he implanted had come from her own creative imagination. He arranged for this delivery to continue after his passing, and he believed that a decade would give a more than adequate cushion for the entire story to be disseminated to the Muggle public. He had no idea how closely he had come to the precipice of failure.

Desperate measures, indeed.

o


	10. Odds & Ends

10.a

 **A/N:** Herein is the final episode of _Decades,_ and I can now say a few things about this story. When I first imagined it, I had recently read _Inkheart_ (thus the opening quote) and it fit my intentions at the time – the magic accomplished could not be explained, it just _was_. I had a general outline for _Decades_ through the Wizengamot trial, where I had intended to end the story. Then, SIYE announced the Deathly Hallows Challenge in early 2009 and my challenge entry allowed me to extend the story (yes, it really was that long ago; it's still archived there) and I could explain things like Proxy Magic, even if I was essentially writing the ending first. So this little plot has been rattling around in my brain for nearly a decade as well, and I must say that it's very satisfying to finally set the full version down in print. It did take me longer than my anticipated 10 weeks, because I underestimated how much was left to do and I don't often have time to write. Unconfined by a deadline or 10,000 word limit, I wanted to do it right, and I hope you have enjoyed the result.

* * *

 **10\. Odds and Ends**

o o o

10.01

0820 WEDNESDAY OTTERY ST CATCHPOLE DEVON

The day had finally arrived. Two weeks of preparations had worn me out, and I was at a loss to think of any better protections, anything undone. Hopefully, my paranoia would not be tested near as much as my patience had been recently.

It was Xenophilius Lovegood that broke the story of the Deathly Hallows in that odd paper he called _The Quibbler._ The slant he took was a philosophical look at why the Hallows were special creations from ancient days and we should be quite fortunate that the Master of the Hallows walked among the mere mortals today. He even went as far as to say that I should be the keynote speaker at the next Questers convention. I had no idea such an event existed. Would there still be Questers after I made my presentation?

However, the _Daily Prophet_ , scandal-mongering rag that it was, could not say enough about how the "Boy-Who-Lived" becoming the "Master of Death" was the harbinger of an age of such chaos and destruction to make any recent dark lord seem tame by comparison. Skeeter was pulling out all the stops, aware that I somehow ruined her potential blockbuster story about my trial. Even if I hadn't done that, she would still be dribbling something nasty from her poison pen, and the wizarding public apparently needed a new nightmare to keep them up at nights. As for myself, I thought the contrast of life and death in my titles was interestingly odd, but that was about it.

The Ministry of Magic was the most persistent nuisance. Scrimgeour continued to hound me with his claim that the Hallows were somehow in the public domain, and the need to know all about them was critical, using veiled threats almost daily to coerce me to give them up. I eventually negotiated a brief period of investigation under controlled conditions, and I would notify them of the time and place immediately prior to the event.

It was time.

I took a sheet of parchment and wrote the instructions for the first step. I rolled it and tied it to Hedwig's outstretched leg. "Okay, girl, take this straight to Mr. Weasley at the Ministry. He'll know what to do." I had hinted I might need him so he would be in his office. The beautiful owl nipped my finger and flew out the window into the cool morning air.

"Ready to head out, everyone?"

"Yes, we just need to know where to go," said Remus Lupin, senior member of the party departing the Burrow with me.

I held out another slip of parchment with their destination and showed it to them.

"We're apparating to the front of Gringott's? That's it?"

"You'll see when we get there."

I'm glad they trusted me, for they asked no more questions. The twins, Remus, Bill, Ron and Hermione went by themselves while I took Ginny side-along.

Let the games begin.

o o o

10.02

0820 WEDNESDAY GRINGOTTS LONDON

"Ugh," Ginny mumbled upon arrival in Diagon Alley. "I hope we don't have to do that a lot…"

"Sorry about that;" I replied. "It's not my favorite method of travel either. It's better when you do it yourself."

She cutely wrinkled her nose at me and we joined the others walking into the wizarding bank. The goblins gave us a careful screening at the door, then Griphook led us to a private conference room.

"Will you require more than one cart to reach the vaults, Mr. Potter?"

"Thank you, Griphook, but we aren't traveling to the vaults," I replied. "We're just waiting on our guests."

I got several curious looks from my friends at that. Only Ginny knew our final destination.

It was another ten minutes before the Minister of Magic led Unspeakable Terwilliger and the two researchers from the Royal Academy of Magic into the room, followed by Tonks, Kingsley and Mad-Eye Moody.

"Is this really necessary, Potter?" asked Scrimgeour. "These people are extremely trustworthy. I know Gringotts is renowned for its security, but you could have done this just as easily at the Ministry."

It was natural to assume that the inspection would be here, because it was no secret that I had acquired three high security vaults in separate parts of the wizarding bank's subterranean network. What absolutely no one knew was that of those three items in the three vaults, only the snitch was real, but the little ball contained nothing inside it.

"I apologize for the cloak and dagger, Minister, but I am taking no chances. 'Constant vigilance,' you know." I winked at Moody, who nodded his approval. "We aren't staying here; I just wanted goblin security to have a go at you. We will be travelling by secure portkey to another site for the review. Just so you know, all three artifacts have alarms and distinct tracking charms on them, and any attempt at theft will be treated with immediate and overwhelming response. No two items will be onsite at any time, and they cannot be accessed by anyone but me, either now or in future. You will have thirty minutes to study each artifact, ten minutes for each researcher within a magically shielded area, after which time it will be removed and secured before the next artifact is presented. Only one researcher will be allowed inside the shielded area at a time. You will be in the presence of other rare magical artifacts, but you are not there to study them. With one exception, those artifacts might be available for study at some later time, but that is out of my control. Are there any questions?"

There were none. The researchers had a nervous excitement that seemed appropriate, while the minister had donned a permanent frown.

"Right, then, everyone present your equipment for inspection, including wands."

I let Mad-Eye, Bill, Remus and Kingsley handle this part, and I was able to step back and observe the indignities of a magical pat-down inflicted upon our oh-so-noted guests. The minister had a recording device that was disallowed. Mad-Eye confiscated some instrument of one of the researchers, saying it could be used to overcome other enchantments, not that he would have used it that way, but "constant vigilance" prevailed.

When all was determined satisfactory, I thanked Griphook while pulling out the rope that was my open Portkey. I touched my wand to it, thought about where I needed to go, and whispered " _Portus_." It immediately glowed blue.

"Five seconds everyone. Please grab hold."

There was the familiar tug behind the navel, and we were hurtling uncontrollably through space. Moments later we landed in the middle of a large circular office that most of our group immediately recognized.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter, Minister, everyone, thank you for coming," said Headmistress Minerva McGonagall. "Welcome to Hogwarts."

In response to the glances, I merely said, "Only place safer than Gringotts." Those who had read _Philosopher's Stone_ chuckled.

Introductions were made all around, then I led the entire troupe on a trek to the seventh floor tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy with his dancing trolls. I crossed the area three times slowly, making very particular demands, until a door appeared in the wall.

"I suppose the Room of Requirement constitutes one of those rare magical artifacts, Mr. Potter?"

I grinned. "You catch on very quickly, Mr. Terwilliger."

Inside, the room was completely white without any ornamentation and no real distinction where floor met wall or even the existence of a ceiling. A soft white glow came from nowhere and everywhere. A plain pedestal table with one simple chair sat in the middle of the space. Padded benches were about twenty feet away on both sides. My security team took places all around the perimeter as I directed the researchers to one bench, the Minister and Headmistress to the other.

I closed the door, sealed it and it disappeared into the whiteness.

"Here's how this works: the shield will be created around the table. I will stand on one side and allow each of you three, in turn, to come and sit to examine the artifact. After you are finished, you will join the Minister and Headmistress on their bench. Everything clear?"

When all was prepared, I called for my first assistant.

"Kreacher!"

The elf appeared with a resounding crack and bowed low. Only house elves employed at Hogwarts would be able to come and go until I released control of the magical room. I cast a privacy charm and whispered in his ear, for not even he knew where he was to go until that moment. He departed with a sour look, and I created the shield around the table. A few moments later, Kreacher returned bearing a flat box of cardboard. I opened it and withdrew the Cloak of Invisibility of my father and his father before.

"Take note; this is the one and only demonstration of any of the artifacts that I will perform. I will only be visible to Alastor Moody with his magical eye."

I donned the cloak as I had many times since first year and disappeared from view. I strolled across the room before removing it and entering the shielded area. I laid the cloak on the table and one by one, called the researchers to inspect it, letting them hold the thin shimmering fabric in their hands, cast their allowed diagnostic spells, and generally admire it for their allotted time. When the third researcher had moved to the opposite bench, I called Kreacher back to return it to its hiding place, as much as he would despise it and the people who lived there. Hopefully Aunt Petunia would not be too suspicious of the sounds in her attic.

I regarded the cloak as the least dangerous of the three Hallows, so keeping it temporarily hidden in the Muggle world posed no great concern. The wand and the stone, however, required more serious protections.

After placing the researchers back on their original bench, I called for Dobby and whispered a set of instructions to him, just as I had the other elf. He disapparated and was back a minute later, standing next to a large object under a dusty cloth. I pulled off the cloth to reveal a large ornate mirror.

"As I mentioned earlier, these other artifacts are not for study today. If you want to have a go at the Mirror of Erised, you will have to contact the headmistress later. Now, I just hope Dumbledore's charm still works…"

For just as he had hidden the Philosopher's Stone, the Elder Wand had been placed in the mirror, only able to be removed by someone who did not intend to use it. Of course, that assumed that anyone could find the room it occupied after I had vanished its only door – no silly trap doors or oversize magical chess sets required.

I stood in front of the mirror and waved at the image of mum and dad, who stepped aside and let another redhead appear beside me. She gave my mirror image a kiss and then picked up a red-haired baby boy from somewhere and kissed him as well. We made quite a nice picture, I thought. Unfortunately, I had people waiting.

The mirror me then reached into his robes and pulled out a wand. I repeated his actions and found the Elder Wand in my hand. I returned to the table, all eyes focused on the carved stick in my hand, the most notorious wand in history.

I gave them all their time with the wand, and they were more curious about its properties, no doubt wondering if its power could be duplicated somehow. However, they were not Ollivander, and I doubt even he could recreate it exactly.

When they had all finished and sat on the far bench, I held up the wand, briefly running it through my fingers one last time. And before I could change my mind or anyone could say anything against it, I took it forcefully in both hands and quickly snapped it completely in two.

I expected a lot of noisy protestations, shouts of indignation, but everyone was too stunned to say a word. After all, what was done could not be undone, and I think many of them had expected it.

"Eliminating the temptation keeps things simpler all around, wouldn't you say?"

No one responded.

"Bill, I need you to take these pieces back to the tomb and return it to Dumbledore, and then do your worst on it. We don't want anyone else disturbing him." I looked towards Ginny, and she gave a nod.

"I'll give him some company, if you don't mind, Harry."

No, I didn't mind – I had given her the choice if she wanted to leave us at this point or not. "That will be fine, Ginny, we'll see you on the grounds later."

I unsealed the room and let them leave.

After we were all collected in the hall, I continued, "Right, for the third artifact we will be travelling to a different location. You may find the journey a little awkward, but I hope you will find it worth the trouble."

I led them on a circuitous route down several stairs and other corridors, until we arrived at a girls' bathroom. Hermione and Ron had figured out our destination as soon as we reached the second floor.

From my robes I withdrew a flat stone basin – Dumbledore's old pensieve – and placed it on the floor of the bathroom in front of the lavatories. I touched the tip of my wand to my temple, concentrated for a moment, then pulled a silvery gossamer strand and let it drip like honey into the basin. I stirred the plasma-like substance before prodding it. A ghostly figure of a young boy – in this very bathroom – rose from the basin and emitted an odd hissing sound, which caused the sink to slide back and reveal a large hole in the floor. The puzzled expressions were universal this time.

"Most of you know that the Chamber of Secrets is only accessible by speaking Parseltogue, usually an inherited talent. I am probably unique in yet another sense, that the talent was given to me through the part of Tom Riddle left in my scar, which is now thankfully gone. The ability to speak the language of snakes disappeared as well, so the only way I can open the chamber now is to use my memory of doing so in my second year. Since I don't plan on ever coming back, and there are no other known living Parselmouths, you will be the last to see this dark legacy of Salazar Slytherin. Consider it a bonus treat."

Most of them had mixed emotions, eager to see the infamous space, but not without some nervous looks at that dark hole.

"Potter, are you sure this is safe?"

"You should be fine if you follow instructions and keep your wands to yourselves. Take special care not to disturb any of the stuff I've installed. Those of you with brooms will immediately follow me; the rest of you will be escorted by Professor Flitwick."

I produced a small version of my Firebolt and enlarged it to its normal size, then climbed on and lowered myself down the slimy pipe that was the only passage to the subterranean access tunnel. My friends and the former Order members had been given a heads up about needing brooms, so they slowly followed me down.

I could hear the high squeaky voice of Flitwick gathering a group onto his conjured levitating platform at the top of the pipe.

"Second floor, Ladies lounge. Step lightly and mind the gap. Suck it in Terwilliger! Keep your elbows in during descent. Going Down!"

We eventually made our way down the pipe and along the tunnel, gathering at the doors to the chamber itself, adorned with their lifelike carvings of intertwined snakes. I placed the pensieve on the floor.

"The clue of the snitch left by Dumbledore stated, ' _I unwind and parte at a word, To where mourning ne'er is heard._ ' It was Ginny who figured out the meaning. The snakes at the Chamber's door unwind at the word 'open' and the wall slides apart. The other line refers to the fact that roosters crow in the morning, a sound that would never be heard here in the lair of the basilisk. We are here because the snitch could only be opened in the chamber."

"Dumbledore always was an odd duck, but that's just…"

"Brilliant, Mr. Terwilliger? It's frightening sometimes, how he just seemed to know."

I repeated the process to create the pale figure of the boy I once was, hissing at the door, and just as before, the snakes unwound and the wall divided, revealing the greenish gloom beyond. I waved my wand and the huge room was filled with a white light from several dozen bright globes floating in the space. Most of them were concentrated about one-quarter of the way along its length, where a table and chair flanked by benches matched the arrangement used in the Room of Requirement.

In my best tour-guide voice, I intoned, "Welcome to Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets, also known as Salazar's House of Horrors or the Temple of Terror. If penance is your fancy, you should slither the length of the hall and kiss the feet of the Most Arrogant One. However, in the interest of time, I suggest we gather over here."

I received a few pointed looks for my ever-present cheek – I am James Potter's son after all – but everyone arranged themselves accordingly and I conjured the shield around the table. Instead of calling for one of the elves, this time I strolled to one of the colossal stone pillars, climbed onto my broom, and floated up to the head of the snake carving. I waved my wand at it a few times and removed what appeared at first to be its left eye.

"Hiding in plain sight, as it were," I joked, returning to the table with the Resurrection Stone in hand. "This artifact has an additional charm placed on it. Rotate it two full turns and you will find yourself under the petrification spell. Don't want any accidental crossing-overs, do we? I thought not."

The researchers were again given their chance to look it over one by one. How much they were able to learn, I had no idea, but this one item troubled me most of all. When all was complete, I pointed my wand at the innocent-looking little rock at the center of the table and stripped it of all my spellwork. I uttered one last spell, and it was gone.

"Potter, what did you just do?" the almost resigned tone indicated that they suspected the worst, and they were right.

"Vanished it, of course," I said. "The mere existence of the stone is an affront to the natural order of life. The Questers of the Hallows will lament, but that is a small price to pay knowing that we have eliminated any future threat posed by the gifts of the first two brothers. We are finished with our immediate task, but as we are here for the last time, you may have half an hour to look around. Again, do not touch any of my 'decoration,' or it may be the last thing you do. Headmistress, you may call the governors down for a peek if they desire it."

McGonagall's patronus was sent up to where Flitwick held the members of Hogwarts Board of Governors, waiting for the opportunity to personally see the fabled chamber while they had the chance.

Unspeakable Terwilliger had wandered to my side. "Mr. Potter, this destruction of historic artifacts, it is simply unconscionable. I will file a formal protest."

"Do what you must," I returned, "as I do what I must. I prefer the term 'proactive.' I understand that's a difficult concept for most wizards to grasp. As for this," I said, waving my hand, "the Headmistress convinced the governors that, given its history, it was a prudent course of action."

Fred and George listened in with obvious glee. After the Unspeakable wandered away muttering to himself, they edged over for a quiet consultation of their own.

"What about the basilisk carcass, Harry? Shame to leave it behind; it's got to be worth a considerable pile of galleons, even in its present condition."

"Good point, guys. I do have a sizable investment here, and I wouldn't mind some reimbursement. Say we split 50-50? Whatever you guys can shrink within the time limit…"

If one really needed something difficult accomplished, one only had to get the Weasley twins interested, and they did get it done in time, if only just. I had to shoo everyone out before I could perform the final preparations. It had taken considerable effort and discrete inquiry to find an expert in setting up this kind of thing in a magical area, not to mention the three solid days we practically lived down here doing the work. It had better be a success.

In the passage outside the chamber, I had McGonagall transfigure some of the stone from the old ceiling collapse into a solid barrier across the bottom of the access pipe. Once we were back to the top, I told Flitwick to seal it with everything he had and then some. I nodded to the ghost known as Moaning Myrtle, hovering over her favorite stall.

"Myrtle, please give the merpeople their 15-minute warning. And thanks for helping out."

"Just as long as you come to see me more often, Harry."

"I'll try, Myrtle, I really will."

"Of course you'll be in the head boy's rooms, so…"

"Just go, Myrtle, we can talk later!" Hopefully much, much later…

o o o

10.03

1200 WEDNESDAY HOGWARTS CASTLE

On the grounds between the castle and the lake a small crowd had gathered, just as I had requested. All the Hogwarts staff, the governors, the researchers and the minister, the Order members that had helped me all along the way, the entire Weasley family, and a select few reporters that did _not_ include Rita Skeeter, all stood expectantly as I set the final charms on the Scrying Crystal provided by Dobby, a larger one than I used when I targeted Malfoy Manor. I activated it and a three dimensional holographic image of the Chamber of Secrets and the access tunnel appeared in the air, large enough so that everyone could clearly see.

I fired a Muggle flare, which blazed with an intense light as it floated over the lake. I also sounded a loud horn. "One minute warning!" I called out with a sonorous charm.

I addressed the assembly. "Salazar Slytherin left behind a great legacy at Hogwarts, being one of its founders, but part of that legacy was a seed of poison - the bigotry that lingers on even today. Our actions today are not an antidote to that poison, but will at least be a reminder that attitudes need to change, and this may be a catalyst. Only time will tell. How fitting that end comes courtesy of a few thousand pounds of Muggle magic."

Minister Scrimgeour still had his doubts. "Are you sure this will even work, Potter?"

"The technology is a century and a half old," I said, "and has been improved and much refined over that time. Properly used, it's very effective."

I set a cube-shaped device on the ground in front of Ginny. "You deserve the honors, love, as much as anyone."

She gave me a grateful smile. "What do I need to do?"

"When I release this safety catch and raise the handle, you just give it a good push back down, then we watch what happens." I could have used a simple button, but this method was much more satisfying with the deliberate motion it required. Besides, the miners in those American Old West movies made it look so cool. I also taught them the words they needed to say to keep it authentic. They thought I was a bit round the twist, but what was new about that? I told them it would be fun, and they bought it, being almost giddy with anticipation.

It was just about showtime. I checked the Marauder's Map once more, just to be sure everyone was where they were supposed to be.

"Dobby, all clear?" Dobby was my designated final safety check.

"All clear, Harry Potter sir!"

"Three...Two...One, Fire in the Hole!" I called out, raising the plunger on the detonator box.

"FIRE IN THE HOLE!" came the resounding reply amid giddy laughter.

I nodded to Ginny and she emphatically shoved down the plunger with her full weight. All eyes focused on the glowing image hanging before us.

The detonator's magical transmission reached the sequencers installed far below, and they in turn began the carefully planned signals with precision timing. A series of small dynamite flashes and puffs of smoke ran the length of the approach tunnel, causing the ceiling to release its tenuous hold on the rock above. Tons of broken stone crashed to the floor, permanently separating the Chamber from the bottom of the sealed access pipe and protecting the castle from what was about to follow.

After a few seconds had passed, flashes of explosive detonations appeared in the lofty Chamber itself, beginning at Slytherin's statue, continuing in quick succession down the rows of giant pillars, severing each at its top. A sequence quickly followed along each base, shearing off huge wedges of stone, and a series at the pillar midpoints, blasting each pillar into halves that forcibly collapsed each one into the center of the hall. By this time, the great statue had fractured and fallen listlessly to the floor as well.

Up on the surface, we onlookers were being shaken by the thundering and trembling earth, but the sequencers continued with their targeted detonations. We watched as they set off an array of charges in each wall, starting at the bottom and forming a diagonal line blasting the wall inward as it rapidly swept the length of each side of the chamber, and all four sides slowly descended into the growing heap of shattered rock.

Finally, the great charges buried upward, far above the ceiling, were set off in a massive release of destructive force that ruptured any remaining resistance from the lake above, and without any support below, it all came down in a crushing avalanche of water, earth and broken stone that seemed to last for ages, obliterating any hint of the Chamber's former existence.

The shock wave hit moments later, nearly knocking us down, but not preventing us from seeing the boiling water in the lake as air escaped the new pit of rubble at its floor below.

The Chamber of Secrets had given up its dying gasp.

The timing required only half a minute, but the sheer magnitude of what we had witnessed made it seem to last far longer. Our chests felt pummeled and breathless, our hearing was in a soundless shock, and our hearts beat wildly while we were barely able to stand. It took several minutes for any of us to regain a voice, even after the echoes around the lake faded into silence.

"That was awesome!"

"Simply incredible…"

"I can't believe Muggles could do something like that!"

"We need to check the castle for damage – cracks, broken windows, anything knocked about, you know…"

It may have been a little overkill, but explosive demolition is _not_ something to do half-way; you would be considerably worse off than when you started, and I didn't want anyone following behind needing to clean up _my_ mess.

o o o

10.04

1600 WEDNESDAY OTTERY ST CATCHPOLE DEVON

Later that afternoon, Ginny and I sat by the pond at the Burrow, contemplating, talking, enjoying each other's company.

"Does it help, knowing it's gone, that _he's_ gone?" I asked with concern.

She gazed thoughtfully, tossing a pebble into the water and watching the ripples expand across the quiet surface. "Yeah, I think it does. Though I'm not sure if it will ever be totally gone, up here, you know." She tapped her temple.

I had one arm across her shoulders and pulled her close. "That's to be expected, love. Some will even say that if we totally forget the horrors of our past, we'll be more likely to repeat them."

"Whoever says that probably didn't experience the horror firsthand, but yeah, I can see that. What about you? Any regrets?"

I snorted. "Only that these things weren't dealt with long ago."

"But you weren't tempted like those before…"

"Erm… Ginny…" I started, "I should probably tell you…"

She turned to me when I hesitated. "What? It's okay, love."

I looked at her soft face and sparkling brown eyes, reassuring me that everything would indeed be okay, as long as it was in her power to make it so.

"When I got to Hogwarts and I freed the stone," I began, "I had intended to hide it in the Mirror of Erised. It seemed poetic, since Dumbledore hid the Philosopher's Stone the same way. But when I stood there, holding it, my parents appeared as they always have, but it was different, like they were real. We talked about things, how proud they were, how thankful I was, but they also told me things I didn't know. I believe the stone and the mirror somehow combined the magic to make it real, Ginny, and I ached so much to be with them, to be able to actually touch them, but I could only feel the glass when I tried."

Ginny's eyes glistened and she gave my hand a comforting squeeze.

"I knew that if I didn't get rid of the stone permanently, I would always be tempted to go to it, to look for them again. Dumbledore warned me when I first saw the mirror; he knew a lot about temptation, how even the strongest of us can fall to it. I decided that if I was the master of Death, it was up to me to return those gifts that were sought in selfish greed and arrogance. If I didn't do it, no one else ever could."

"Not playing God?" she teased.

"Nope. At least I don't think so. I think God put me here so that I could do it, as his instrument."

"I like that explanation. Makes sense."

We kissed chastely and held each other for awhile.

"So two decades from now," she mused, "two boys off to Hogwarts, a girl with two years to go…"

"Trelawney said I would have twelve kids."

"But what did Dumbledore say about prophecies? They mean nothing unless we act – something like that?"

"Yeah, and we know that this timeline has already changed…"

"So our future is yet to be determined, Potter?"

"I reckon it will be what we make it."

"Then let's make it good."

And that sounded wonderful to me.

o

10.b

 **A/N:** And that's all for this story. For the record, I prefer the method of dealing with the Chamber of Secrets put forth in my story _Elementum Consensio_ , where Harry and Company follow up on Hermione's idea to remodel it as a student recreation center. There's some other cool stuff as well. Thanks for reading!

o


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